


redamancy

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Sexual Content, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(the act of loving in return.)<br/><i>five times daryl and carol almost had sex and the one time they did</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

He expected her to climb out of bed and run for the hills, disappear into the night like a lithe shadow. To never look at him again. To maybe hesitate by the door and scold him, yell at him.

 

Instead, Carol turns in his arms, the soft mattress dipping ever so slightly, until she is facing him. Whatever he expected to see in her eyes, this was not it. Moonlight falls in through cracks in the shutters, reflecting in her eyes and turning them into infinite expanses of summer skies speckled with stars. What he finds in them, mere inches from his face, is far from the fear, anger or disgust he'd brazed himself for. So close that he can taste her warm, damp breath, he finds himself compelled by the curiosity that rests in the pools of blue without shame or hesitation.

 

Until a mere second ago, he wanted to bolt out of the room. His petrified bones had prevented that from happening, and now he is too mesmerized by the tenderness in Carol's gaze to even breathe.

 

_Daryl,_ she breathes, a voiceless sound that sends shivers down his spine. It's pathetic the way he reacts, the skin of his arms contracting into goosebumps, the tiny hairs at the base of his skull raising.

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries finding his voice. _'m sorry._ It is a genuine apology. He never meant to put her into this position, to crowd her like this. To bleed his embarrassment onto her. But the only reply he receives is a slight shake of her head and then she reaches out to touch a hand to his cheek.

 

Any other day, he'd have jolted away from her touch, too weak, too embarrassed. It would have been too much. Now, frozen by her side, he can not hold back a small sound that trickles past his lips when her soft, warm fingers lock into place, the tips just barely grazing his temples and ear. The pad of her thumb ghosts over the corner of his mouth, and his eyes drift shut in response.

 

It must be a dream, a cruel and merciless one that will end before...

 

_Look at me._

 

It can't be real. The pleading tone of her voice and the shifting on the bed. The warmth of her soft body edging closer. It's not real and he has to wake up now before he's in too deep.

 

_Daryl, please,_ she whispers, and then incredibly warm and soft lips press against his. His eyes shoot open instantly, and there she is, right in front of him. Pulling out of what he does not dare call a kiss, looking up at him with eyes a doe would envy, open and vulnerable.

 

He is still sorry, but a fragile little part of him lightens up with hope that maybe he doesn't have to be.

 

 

 

Months on the bitterly cold road have passed, one day bleaker and colder than the one before. Even all huddled together there was never anything such as feeling safe or warm or sheltered. He told himself it was for that reason alone that he gravitated towards Carol like she was his true North. She was not safe in this world, barely able to defend herself, still reeling from losing her little girl (the little girl he'd promised to find. _alive_.), but when he scooted closer to her night after night, he'd felt a bit more secure knowing he could protect her now.

 

None of them were granted much warmth, even Maggie or Glenn sleeping tangled up in one another. But when he edged even closer after a few bitterly cold weeks and pressed his back against hers, he could feel her shivering ease a little. Shelter was no longer just a dry place to sleep for a handful of restless hours. But when she reached behind herself one night a few weeks ago and tugged at his hand until he was wrapped around her, Daryl felt himself immersed in what else the world could mean. He'd felt home.

 

It became a habit much too quickly. So much so that even tonight, safe behind the walls of a decently sized house with fireplaces and soft beds, he still curled himself around her before they drifted off to sleep. There was no need, not with the thick blankets and the stone wall soaking up the warmth of the fireplace in the room next door. No need.

 

He'd woken with a start, shaken from a dream he could no longer remember, his body treacherous in hinting at what kind of dream he'd had. He could feel himself hard and straining against the zipper of his pants, all of him pressed up against Carol's body.

 

This never happened before, not once. He wondered, briefly, why he'd be cursed with this now. Perhaps it was because they were given the illusion of safety in this room with the thick stone walls and the small windows. Perhaps it was because they'd all had the chance to wash up earlier and Carol smells different, more like he remembers her smelling at the farm. Cleaner and more like _her_ , less like the debris of months of surviving on the road. She'd washed her hair, growing out in delicate little curls that were soft and dewy against his cheek. Perhaps it was because they were finally alone when he woke, T-Dog having left to take watch. Nobody else was here, just the two of them.

 

His entire body tensed when she stirred in his arms, their hands clasped together against her stomach under the thick blanket. It was too late to find a way out of this mess, to run, to scoot away from her and wait for his body to calm down.

 

She made a move to stretch her aching limbs but stilled when she felt him pressing against her. His heart stuttered in his chest when she sucked in a breath of air.

 

 

 

Her fingertips are ghosting into his hair, over the shell of his ear, her lips a mere breath away from his. His eyes are drawn to them, slightly parted and a rosy shade of pink, damp and inviting. All he can think of is the way they'd felt against his, slightly chapped from the constant cold but still so delicate and soft that something tugs deep in his gut at the fresh memory.

 

He realizes with a start that he wants to feel them against his again. That he has wanted to kiss her all along, ever since they started sleeping this close to one another, perhaps even long before that. The exact _when_ is lost now but it hardly matters. What does matter is the fear that looms in his head and stiffens his body, too grand to overcome and simply breach the miniscule distance between them.

 

Because why on Earth would she want him to?

 

Perhaps his struggle is written plainly across his face because the next second Carol begins to lean in again, merciful and tender. The barest hint of a smile curls her lips before they are pressed to his again and this time, he kisses her back. A surprised sound stirs in the back of Carol's throat, a sigh that stretches into the smallest of moans when the hand that had previously clasped hers falls into place at her hips.

 

It is the most surreal of sounds and brings an onslaught of fascination along with it. He caused that sound. He made her feel this way.

 

Her lips are pliant against his and Daryl would be content to freeze this moment. By now, he has almost forgotten what woke him in the first place, but Carol's memory seems more up to speed, and when she suddenly slips one of her legs between his and her thigh presses against him perfectly, he can't quite hold back a groan. It rumbles in his chest and fire fizzles in his veins. Deftly, he sinks his fingers into the flesh of Carol's hips and pulls her flush against him.

 

Almost instantly, he realizes how rough he's been, easing his grip and pulling away from the kiss, an apology lingering on his lips. But Carol gives him no chance, curling her hand around his neck and pulling him back towards her. Her hips grind into his the second that the tip of her tongue traces the seam of his lips, and Daryl is defenseless against her, yielding within the breath of a second.

 

Her tongue is warm and slick against his, a hum that slips from her mouth vibrating through him. When he pulls her core against his erection this time, there is no more hesitation. The way she kisses him, like she actually wants to, is foreign to Daryl and makes it feel like a first kiss in too many ways to count. Nobody has ever kissed him this way, like it actually mattered to them. But it matters to Carol, judging by the way her fingers sift through his hair, tugging slightly at the growing strands, and by the way she hardly moves away enough to suck in enough air for them not to black out.

 

His hand wanders up from her hip bravely, her shirt wandering up slightly under the stickiness of his sweaty hand when he follows the dip of her waist and the ridges of her ribs. Something close to a plea slips from Carol's lips then, just as his thumb grazes the side of her breast. She tears herself away from the kiss, buries her head in the crook of his neck instead. It is more than enough encouragement, and still Daryl’s heart beats like a set of drums when he moves his hand between them and cups the small weight of her breast in the palm of his hand.

 

Carol sighs against his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse point, fingers still clutching his hair. He takes that as a good sign and, momentarily distracted by the touch of her lips, Daryl gathers himself and brushes his thumb over the peak of her breast straining against the cotton of her shirt. She trembles in his arms in response and so he does it again, wishing there'd be more space to push her shirt over her head and lean down to kiss her everywhere.

 

Her own hand begins to drift away from his hair, over the expanse of his shoulder and down his side. It's a touch so light it almost tickles, but Daryl can't find it in himself to care. Carol is running her hand down his side, grinding herself against him, making small sounds in the back of her throat. Never in his life has he felt as complete as he does in this moment.

 

Warm and delicate fingers slip just under the hem of his shirt. For one brief second, he tenses, but then she presses another kiss to his throat, the tips of her fingers feathering lightly over his skin. She is making no move to slip them around to his back and he's grateful for it. Leaning down, he kisses the crown of her head.

 

His breath stutters when she suddenly slips her hand between them, unbuckling his belt so swiftly that he has no chance to stop her. _Carol-_ he begins, the sound of her name wrecked and breathless on his lips, but she swallows his attempt at slowing her down with her lips. The kiss is different from before, nowhere near as soft or curious. It's demanding now, his hand slipping from her breast to grip her waist, bared now that her shirt has ridden up. Silky soft skin is smooth under his calloused palm.

 

The moment Carol pulls down his zipper, her hand ghosting over his straining erection, he chokes out a curse. It's almost too much, so when she slips her fingers into his open pants and cups him through his underwear, he has to swiftly tug her hand away. His fingers curled around her wrist he pulls out of the kiss.

 

She is looking up at him with darkened eyes and flushed cheeks. _Sorry,_ she mutters now, his earlier apology suddenly reminding him of how fucked up they really are. He shakes his head, words impossible to form right now, and drops her hand between them. He returns his own to her waist, but splays his fingers until the tips nudge beneath her own pants.

 

Surprise ghosts over Carol's face then, and she tilts her hips forward almost eagerly. He is completely out of his depth ad without a clue what to do because this is _Carol_ , not some random woman he picked up at a bar half-drunk. She goddamn matters.

 

Before he can embarrass himself, she reaches up to curl her fingers around his wrist, her other hand sneaking out from beneath her to pop open the button on her pants and pull the zipper down so slowly that he can hear each tooth. Daryl swallows, trying to breathe when she tugs at his hand and leads it down into her pants.

 

When he feels her – damp hair and soft, slick skin – it knocks the breath right out of him. Desperate to hold on, he squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his hips away from hers. Her leg slips away, the sound she makes jolting through his system like electric sparks.

 

_Stay,_ she whispers, freeing his hand and reaching out for him. He shakes his head, trying to ignore the way his skin burns when she curls her fingers into his shirt. Instead, he slips his fingers further down where everything is warmer than anything else has been for months. _Come here. Please._ It's a plead he can hardly deny, not when he is sinking a finger inside of her and she pants against him, body arched and wired.

 

He wants to be closer to her. Hell, he wants to crawl over her and sink into her and never be anywhere else. But the fear of making a fool of himself, or of pressing her into something she's not ready for, something she might not even truly want, clouds his judgment. He does not feel brave in this moment, far from it.

 

But when she crawls closer to him, there's not much he can do. _Carol, I- Ya gotta-_ Her lips silence him and his heart pauses when she smiles into the kiss. It's a brief moment and he might have imagined it, but it is more than all the reassurance he could have imagined or asked for. He is lost in her after that, kissing her back eagerly.

 

This time when she slips her hand between them and tucksher fingers into his underwear, he does not move to push her away. Instead, he bucks into her touch when her warm fingers curl around the base of him, squeezing him slightly. A silent groan tears through him and he slips a second finger into her without pause. _Fuck!_

 

She is definitely smiling now, parting from the kiss only to feather a few damp and open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. Her hand has set a steady rhythm, slow and gentle, almost shy. For all the heat that has consumed them, they are still them, Daryl wonders, a flustered blush beaming on his cheeks.

 

He bends down until he can reach Carol's throat, ignoring the strain in the back of his neck. It's all worth it when he presses a firm kiss behind her ear, nudges the shell with the tip of his nose and draws a mewl from her throat. Almost simultaneously, her fingers tighten around him and he hisses. But before she can misread it as a sign of pain, he thrusts himself into her palm once more, his own fingers never hesitating in their exploration of her.

 

She is soaked now, his fingers slipping easily along her soft skin, inside of her. It drives him crazy when she rubs herself against his palm, small and ragged circles that he tries to imitate, anything to get her to make that sound again. When he sucks softly at the skin of her neck, not enough to leave a mark but enough to cause her to whimper, she clamps down around him and he feels like he might explode right this second.

 

But the thought of coming all over her hand in the limited space when they're both still dressed makes him flinch. She deserves better than that. And it is not how he has imagined this – God, has he imagined this. For all his attempts to make himself believe he hasn't, it's crossed his mind more than once in glorious details. Mostly, it had been question he never thought he'd ever be allowed the privilege to discovers the answers to. How soft her skin would feel (so damn soft, like the petals of a flower). What his name would sound on her lips as she nears the edge (pleading, a broken whisper, chasing a prayer).

 

Daryl groans against her throat when her fingers trail over the tip of him before sliding back down, slow and gentle and not enough but too much at the same time. A little too eagerly, he kicks the blanket down enough so that the exposed skin of her waist comes into view, nearly translucent in the moonlight. The dips of her ribs cast small shadows, but his eyes are drawn to her hand between them, curled around him. His own hands disappearing in her pants.

 

_I want-_ he begins, painting the words against the side of her throat. He can't say what he wants, is too afraid to ask for it. But Carol seeks out his lips one more time, nodding fervently, slowing the rhythm of her hand. When she pulls her hand away he nearly whimpers at the loss of the touch, but then she begins to push down his pants. It's a difficult task in this position and her foot runs down his calf in an attempt to assist her hand.

 

His mind goes blank the second she's pushed his pants down past his hips and pulls him out, fingers even more eager now, all shyness evaporated. The mere idea of being inside of her is all that fuels him now, and he fumbles to pull his fingers from her, circling the spot that makes her shudder in his arms for a few moments before he grasps her pants and begins to tug them down her hips.

 

They freeze in that very instant, two voice, hushed but loud enough to carry through the walls, approaching the room. It's T-Dog and Rick, Daryl recognizes quickly and he wants to slam his fist into the wall. Instead, he looks down at Carol's panicked face and decides he needs to keep it together for her sake.

 

Swiftly he pulls down her shirt and fumbles with the button on her pants, but she swats his hands away. _No time,_ she hisses. She's quicker and more efficient than him in many ways, pulling his pants up over his hips. He's stuffing himself back inside, knowing he won't be able to stand her hands on him for another second now that the moment has passed.

 

There is no time to button up or even to move back into their original position when the doorknob turns. Instead, he looks into Carol's eyes one last time, full of disappointment and dying embers, before she moves close enough to hide their partial state of undress from curious eyes.

 

Their eyes drift shut at the same time, and Daryl locks his hand on Carol's waist a little awkwardly when the door opens with a tiny scratch across the wooden floor. He can hear T-Dog lingering by the door for a few moments, most likely surprised by the sight before him. But then he shuts the door and quietly makes his way to the air mattress at the foot of the bed, shuffling around for a moment before all falls quiet.

 

Trying to keep his breathing even, Daryl cracks open an eye, looking down at Carol in his arms. She's pressing against him tightly, still, and he knows it will be a long night. But much to his surprise, she is already beginning to drift off to sleep, her heart beating steadily against his own, her breathing even, ribs expanding under his touch.

 

He has no clue what just happened, and is even less sure what might have happened given the chance. If it would have been good, or much more importantly: the right thing to do.

 

All those thoughts rummage through his head without mercy and it takes much too long for sleep to claim him.

 

 

 

It's an uneasy sleep and he wakes long before Carol or T-Dog, and slips out of the bed as quietly as he can. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he zips up his pants and fumbles with his belt buckle, turning to look at Carol over his shoulder. She looks peaceful like this.

 

Carefully, he pulls the blanket up to her shoulders before grabbing the crossbow from where it's propped up against the bed. Without another look back, he slips out of the room and into the early light of dawn.


	2. two.

They don't talk about it. Not for weeks.

 

 

The first few days _after_ , Daryl even wonders if it was maybe just a dream. But it wasn't a dream, he knows that. He knows because Carol looks at him differently. Touches him differently. When their eyes meet over the fire, there is a spark there that he hasn't seen before. They are darker, softer, reminding him more of the depths of the ocean rather than a pretty spring sky. When she sits on the back of the bike, her hands have moved. _Before_ , they were usually clasped around his upper arms or maybe, sometimes, wrapped around his stomach. Never moving. Now, she curls her fingers into his shirt. Rasps her nails against his abdomen through the fabric, sending shivers down the length of his spine.

 

It's like a silent shift that neither of them is willing to acknowledge.

 

Until now.

 

 

 

 _Daryl._ She gasps his name, her warm breath bathing the crook of his neck. Tender fingers now curl desperately around his forearm, but she is no longer guiding him. It's all him now and she is just holding on. Panting. Whimpering. He relishes in the small sounds his touch draws from the back of her throat.

 

Her forehead drops against his shoulder, mostly exposed where she hastily moved his shirt to the side. It's unbuttoned halfway down his stomach, bunching awkwardly around his shoulders. Neither of them had the patience to deal with all the tiny buttons, but it's one out of only three shirts he has left and tearing the buttons off is no option. But it's enough to feel her skin pressing against his - the smooth, flat plane of her stomach, the soft swells of her breast where he pulled down the cups of her bra.

 

He wants to taste her again, draw her nipples into his mouth just to feel her arch her spine and claw her fingers into his hair. But he doesn't want to move an inch now that his fingers are buried deep inside her where she is warm and wet and _so goddamned_ _tight_ that he has to squeeze his eyes shut. With a steady rhythm she is rocking against him, pulling him deeper, grinding against the thumb he is circling against her warm flesh.

 

Soft lips press a deft kiss just above his heart, and he wonders if she can hear it pounding madly in his chest.

 

 _God, Da- Oh!_ Carol suddenly shudders against him, her entire body going rigid. She clamps down around his fingers so tightly that Daryl can't suppress a strained grunt - he's so hard by now that he feels like he's got no blood left to maintain any other basic body functions. As Carol slowly comes down, her body limp as he wraps an arm around her waist and hauls her up against him, he bucks his hips against her thigh to relief some tension.

 

He doesn't expect her to return the favor. And he sure as hell won't ask. But as he looks down, the sight nearly takes his breath away and he wants more than anything for her to want him at least half as much as he wants her right now.

 

Silver hair (beginning to grow out in the most delicate, tiny curls) is now frizzy with sweat. Pale cheeks flushed a deep red that spreads all the way across her slender neck and freckled chest. Blue eyes wide open and dark. Pink lips parted as she struggles to calm her breathing.

 

God, he wants her. Has wanted her forever, now that really thinks about it. Not just since that night a few weeks ago. It hadn't been an accident, not a spur of the moment thing because they'd both gone too long without any sense of physical relief. No. He'd noticed her even all the way back at the Quarry. Not quite like this. But he'd seen the way she moved, lithe yet cautious. He'd seen the way her hair sparkled in the sunlight. He'd wanted to somehow let her know that she was worth more than her asshole of an husband made her believe.

 

At the farm... He'd wanted to give her so much. Hope. Her daughter. God, how he'd wanted to console her, but he's always been shit at words.

 

Now, he wants her more than ever before. But not like this. Not in a dusty tool shed with his back up against the corrugated metal wall, her pants unbuckled and pooling around her ankles, fucking her on a dirty counter top smeared with grease. She deserves a soft bed and a warm fire. He knows she is freezing. The goosebumps that cover her skin can't be just a response to his touch. Simply can't be.

 

 

 

He hadn't meant for this to happen. Had definitely not intended for Carol to tag along when he went to look for firewood. He'd offered no protest, though - not that it would have done much good to say _no, stay with the group_ ( _stay where you're safer_ ).

 

The ground was covered in a fine sheen of frost, the type that glistens and sparkles in the few rays of sunlight that fight their way through the clouds. She'd walked by his side quietly apart from the crunch of their boots, but he'd felt her gaze burning on the back of his neck.

 

He'd gasped when she suddenly grabbed him by the arm and dragged him wordlessly into the rundown tool shed. The door had barely slammed shut before her lips were pressed against his - warm and soft and erasing all his initial thoughts that she'd seen a walker, a herd or, even worse, other people.

 

Taken aback completely by the sheer force with which she backed him against a rusty wall, it took him embarrassingly long to respond to her kiss. But when he did, when he gave in to the fact that his desire was largely outweighing his fear, he melted in her arms.

 

She sighed his name against his lips like a prayer, pulling his arms around herself until his hands fell into place against the swell of her hips. It felt surreal, much like before. But instead of the dreamy haziness from back then, it now felt like a mad sort of rush that burned through his veins like wildfire.

 

Her tongue traced the seam of his lips and he granted her access without a second thought, oblivious to how terrified he really was. How much it scared him to hold her like this, all of her pressed flush against him.

 

His body responded eagerly, hips bucking into her on their own accord. The friction drew a grunt from him and he broke the kiss, looking down at Carol for the first time in minutes.

 

Shyness marked her face, a soft and rosy glow illuminating her face, swollen lips parted as she met his gaze. _Do you..._ His voice – a shy question - was hoarse and he did not really have the slightest clue what he meant to ask her in the first place. But she understood him nonetheless, nodding gently before slipping her hands that had previously been curled around his neck under the hem of his shirt.

 

His entire body shuddered the second her cold fingers ran across his abdomen, the muscles there jumping under her hesitant but bold touch.

 

 _I do,_ she breathed, leaning up and seeking another kiss. Some of the urgency had simmered down and the kiss was languid, deep, sending tiny sparks through him that fizzled like fire crackers.

 

Her hands ran up his stomach and towards his chest, fingertips briefly grazing the pebbled scar below his ribs. When he tensed in response - reminded of his failure to save her little girl - she quickly moved on. Understanding.

 

Remembering how soft her skin had felt, Daryl longed to feel it again. Slowly, he tugged at her shirt until it was freed from her pants, his hands instantly slipping underneath, curling around her waist. Carol sighed into the kiss, tilting her hips forward daringly. The friction it created was nearly unbearable.

 

He wanted to feel more of her. _See_ more of her. So, when she slipped her hands from under his shirt and began to undo the buttons one by one, Daryl did the same. It was too cold to shed her coat, but he managed well enough to push up the layers of shirts she wore until his eyes peeked down at the flat, pale plane of her stomach and the swells of her breasts, held snugly in the cups of her gray bra.

 

Deciding not to over think this and to simply go by instinct, he cupped them in his hands. Carol hummed her approval as her nipples began to strain against the cotton. She lost her patience then, his shirt only half unbuttoned when she huffed in frustration and simply smoothed it away to expose his chest.

 

She felt so incredibly warm and soft in the roughly calloused palms of his hands. With her hand splayed over his heart, Carol leaned up for another kiss, her clever tongue tracing his bottom lip before she sucked slightly on it. A groan rumbled in his chest and without any hesitation, Daryl slipped his fingers under the cotton of her bra and pulled the cups down.

 

Carol gasped when his thumbs brush over her bare nipples, and he had to drop one hand and press it against the small of her back to steady her. With a heady moan, she tore her mouth away from his, and Daryl was quick in not letting the opportunity pass.

 

Quickly, he ducked down, pressing a sweet kiss against the valley between her breasts before moving his lips to curl around one rosy peak. The second his tongue rasped over it, Carol whimpered his name, her fingers curling into the growing locks of his hair. She pulled ever so slightly, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. A nearly painful tug low in his abdomen caused him to buck his hips forward again, seeking friction.

 

 _Fuck!_ he hissed against the swell of her breast when she drew her nails down the nape of his neck. Gently as to not cause pain but more than enough to boil his blood. Suddenly impatient, Carol dropped her hands between them, momentarily lost in the tight space, but then he heard the sound of her belt unbuckling and the shiver-inducing rasp of the zipper being undone.

 

Gently grazing his teeth over her nipple, Daryl relished in the moan that tore from her throat – too loud, but neither of them cared in that moment.

 

A slender and delicate hand then wrapped around his wrist, tugging at it and he let her guide him without a fight. His eyes blew wide when the dragged his hands into her pants, undone and loose around her hips. Both of them released a sigh the moment his fingers slipped over damp curls and wet skin, and time stopped ticking for a minute.

 

Daryl gulped down deep breaths, taking a minute to gather his bearings. She was so warm and wet, leaning against him for support, her fingers still holding him in place. But then, slightly, her mood shifted back to impatience. Much quicker and much more efficiently than he could have done, she guided his fingers until two of them slipped easily inside of her.

 

 _Daryl!_ she gasped, and he never thought he'd love the sound of his own name this much. But tipping from her lips, it was a gift.

 

The angle was uncomfortable, his wrist already aching, but he held on for her, began to draw back his fingers only to thrust them slowly back inside. Savoring every inch of the stretch. But he wanted more, wanted to make her feel good and maybe, hopefully, hear that sweet gasp again or feel her shudder, her spine arching into his touch.

 

So, even though Carol mewled and bucked her hips, he withdrew his hand. _What-_ she breathed, falling silent the second his hands curled around her pants and tucked them down. In the past few months since they lost the farm, all of them had gone hungry for days on end. Her body had suffered the most perhaps, and he knew it was because she kept giving her food away. In this moment though, it served as an advantage when her pants slid down her thighs without protest and gathered around her ankles.

 

His face was still pressed against her breast, lips brushing the underside of one, and when he looked down and realized her underwear had slipped down her legs as well, heat flushed his cheeks. But Carol didn't seem to be too bothered, quickly grabbing his hand once more and leading it back between her legs.

 

 

 

Her breathing is still ragged, small huffs of breath that meet the oversensitive skin of his chest. Clever fingers trail down his stomach, hovering above the waistband of his pants. He can't help but buck his hips into her touch, pleading silently that she doesn't want this to end just yet.

 

All his doubt washes away when she quickly unbuckles his belt, guiding his pants down his hips just as easily as he had done with her own. The fabric chafes against his thighs but it could grow claws in this moment and he wouldn't give a shit. Not when Carol slips her hand inside his briefs and curls around the base of him, painfully hard and throbbing at her deft touch.

 

He expected her to be gentler with him. More shy and reserved. She can't have had many good moments like this (and neither has he), and he hardly wants to imagine what she went through during the duration of her marriage. But she's bold with him now, stroking his length and pressing her lips to the curve of his throat.

 

Then again, he's been terrified from the moment she dragged him in here. But around her, he stopped feeling the need to be afraid a long time ago. Perhaps she feels the same. With him, she can be brave.

 

When her lips abandon the tender kisses and instead begin to _suck_ at his collarbone, whatever small amount of restraint Daryl has left finally evaporates. With a grunt, he grabs her by the waist, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, and spins them around.

 

Carol's breath escapes her in a rush the second her back hits the rusty wall, and Daryl freezes for a second, terrified he might have been too rough. But within the breadth of a second she is stroking him again, her thumb teasing the head, and he is the one who is leaning on her now, forehead resting just above her still exposed breast.

 

He wants to tell her how much he wants her. How much she means to him. For the first time in his life, Daryl is afraid that _not_ saying something will actually be the worse option. The life they are living is a thin layer of ice, and it could break beneath their feet at every given moment. He could be gone tomorrow. She could be gone tomorrow. And before their time is up, he needs her to know. But what to tell her, that is a question he can't answer right now.

 

Instead, he runs his hands down over her hips, ghosting across the insides of her thighs. Maybe she can _feel_ everything he can not bring himself to say.

 

She pulls back her hand then, his breath shuddering against her breasts, and before he has a moment to doubt her, she is pulling at the waistband of his briefs. Delicately. Too slowly. He brushes off her hands and does the job himself, pushing them just barely over his hips before he is stepping into her space even more.

 

Awkwardly, Carol tries to hook one of her legs around his, muffling an annoyed groan against his temple when the pants pooled around her ankles get in the way. Instead, she rises onto the toes of her boots, her hands curling around his ass and pulling him flush against her.

 

Their eyes meet the second he can feel himself sliding against where she is warm and slick. A small noise escapes Carol's throat, a sigh with the slightest bit of a whimper hidden beneath, and Daryl can't help the groan that tears through his chest. The angle is uncomfortable and he knows he won't be able to maintain it for long – but he doesn't have much confidence in how long this will last anyway, and time is not a luxury they can afford.

 

Still, he allows himself the small moment of pulling back enough to slide against her all the way, watching as her eyes flutter shut, long lashes casting shadows in the dim and cool light of the winter sun shining through the milky window. He watches her lips part and her tongue darting out ever so slightly to wet them, and her hands move up over his sides until she has them curled tenderly around his neck.

 

 _Carol,_ he chokes, desperate now. In response, she leans in for another kiss, oddly gentle. Tilting her hips forwards, she catches him just right, the tip of him nudging her opening. With his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, Daryl pushes forward, just slightly. An inch or two that knock the breath right out of him. It's too warm and wet and tight and it's the culmination of every desire he's had since the world went to shit. Only, maybe it didn't go to shit, after all. Not for him, anyway.

 

He slides in just a tiny bit more when Carol suddenly tears her mouth away from his, her hands now pushing at his shoulders instead of resting around his neck. _Wait!_ she gasps and he is met with wide and terrified eyes. He freezes inside of her, watching the terror unfolding on her face.

 

 _I hurt ya?_ His voice is a hoarse gasp marked by fear, and he eases the grip of his hands around her waist.

 

Her next word sends cold chills through his veins. _Condom,_ she gasps, still out of breath. _We need a condom._

 

Daryl can feel his own eyes widening the same instant he pulls out of her, taking two large steps backwards. Nearly stumbling over the mess of his bunched up pants, he turns away from her, gulping down air. He's glad now that he's still mostly dressed, suddenly feeling more exposed than he has all his life.

 

Everything is quiet for a moment except for their still ragged breathing. He bends down then to pull up his briefs and pants, every muscle in his body coiled with anger. He never should have let it get this far. Even just the notion of putting her in danger like this, of taking the risk of getting her pregnant just because he was too damn horny to think straight... Images of Lori flash through his memory, evoking nothing but shame. She's crumbling, fading away, constantly in pain and discomfort more than anyone else. Nobody ever talks about the birth. About the baby. Never.

 

And he nearly risked forcing the same fate onto Carol.

 

Too caught up in his own thoughts, he missed her soft steps and jolts slightly when she suddenly wraps her arms around his stomach. Her finger splay low on his abdomen where he is still hard and exposed. Against him, he can feel her trembling.

 

 _I'm sorry,_ she whispers, lips ghosting over his neck and the small words only make him angrier. She shouldn't be sorry. Not when he's the one who was one second away from thrusting himself up inside her, getting completely carried away. He should know better. Hell, he can't even remember the last time he fucked someone sober, and yet even piss drunk he'd always remembered a condom. Until now.

 

He wants to shake his head and apologize, but then her fingers drift lower and curl around him again. It doesn't matter that he's ashamed, he still responds to her touch, hips jolting as she strokes him – gentler now, more like he imagined she would.

 

 _Y'ain't gotta,_ he presses, his fingers twitching by his side.

 

A feather light kiss just below his ear. A tender whisper full of a sincerity he can not understand. _I want to._

 

A minute ago he wanted to believe that she did. That she really wanted him. But now he wants to scorch himself for letting things go this far. For putting her at risk like this.

 

He should have _thought_. Should have stopped her right away. He's kept her safe from so much these past months. And now he couldn't even protect her from himself.

 

 _Stop!_ he growls, grabbing her wrist with more force than he wanted to and tugging her hand away. She drops it instantly, taking a startled step back until they are no longer touching.

 

Daryl doesn't turn when he stuffs himself back into his pants and roughly buckles up his belt. He doesn't turn when he marches off towards the door. He doesn't turn to look at her before he slams the door shut behind him and feels the harsh cold biting at his flushed skin.

 

He doesn't turn to look at her for weeks after. Too afraid of what he'll find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry about this? *blushes and hides* 
> 
> Some angst is on the horizon...


	3. three.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, only small slivers of silver moonlight shining through the gaps at the side of the curtain, Carol tries to calm her mind. Inside her chest, her heart is thundering and her mind is taking a spin down the rabbit hole.

 

Four days. That's how long Daryl has been gone. Too long.

 

He and Michonne left on a run in the early hours of the morning, a blood red sun rising beyond the field that stretches around the prison. She wonders now if that had been a bad omen.

 

Every time he leaves – which is much more often than she'd like – Carol is sick with worry. Preoccupied as she fulfills her daily chores and busies herself with additional tasks. All those months on the road have taught her brutally what the world beyond the relative safety of their fences has to offer. Fear and death. Usually, she trusts Daryl enough to be careful and not risk his life unnecessarily. She trusts his skills to stay alive, and he has returned every time. Until now.

 

If only he'd feel home enough to stay inside the fences. At least most of the time. But she understands why he is drawn outside, why the bars and concrete walls make him feel caged. It has become an escape she grants him without comment, but one that often has her lacking sleep.

 

The prison is dead quiet this time of night, and within the silence, Carol can only listen to her own blood rushing in her ears. What if he doesn't come back? It's a thought that burns through her like acid, heart clenching in her chest, and she wills it away, blinks rapidly as tears begin to dwell in her eyes.

 

With a sigh, she turns onto her side, staring at the vague outline of the dresser on the opposite wall.

 

One day, he will not return. It's a unwelcome certainty. But she is not ready for that day to be today. Or tomorrow. Too many words left unsaid have piled between them and she longs to speak at least a treasured handful of them before the end. Be it his end or hers.

 

She knows she'll find no sleep until he returns (or until he has been gone so long that it's certain he never will), but there isn't much she can do to distract herself in the dark. Perhaps she could take over watch, she wonders, thinking that she really might. But then something suddenly fills the silence.

 

Hushed whispers on the whining stairs, too low for her to shape into words. And then steps outside the cells, passing her own slowly. She recognizes them instantly, has heard them countless times and memorized the unique sound of them – almost silent, stealthy if not for the unforgiving and rusty metal and iron that surrounds them.

 

Her heart picks up speed as if it only know remembers how to, and Carol slips out of bed so quickly that stars dance in front of her eyes, turning the darkness of her cell into the clear night sky.

 

Only taking a second to steady herself, Carol rushes toward the door, drawing the curtain aside. The moonlight nearly blinds her eyes, too accustomed now to the dark, but it's easy enough to make out Daryl’s silhouette against the barred windows. He freezes, just a few steps away from his own cell – right next to hers.

 

_You're back,_ she breathes, relief washing over every syllable. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the new light, and her chest clenches painfully when she takes in Daryl. His clothes are even dirtier than usual, dried blood crusting down his shirt, jeans torn. There is an angry cut on his temple, messily patched up. As he sets down the crossbow, she notices that his arms are glistening, scrubbed just as clean as his face. He must have stopped by the baths before coming up.

 

And he looks tired. So very tired.

 

_Yeah,_ he replies, voice like gravel.

 

With a shuddering breath, Carol takes a step outside, her bare feet protesting at the harsh ground. _Are you okay?_ she asks, arm reaching out briefly with the intent to touch his arm, but she drops it instantly as if she'd been burned. He doesn't want it, she reminds herself, the pain of his rejection now another scar that never really healed, throbbing each time she longs to reach out and touch him.

 

_'m fine,_ he assures her with a stiff nod. She can detect the lie easily and knows that he is aware of it. After a pause, he sighs. _Ran into some trouble._

 

There is always trouble, each time. The fact that he is remaining so vague about it now makes her believe that it must have been different this time. Worse. Looking at him curiously, almost expectantly, Carol waits for an explanation. But Daryl only brushes her off with a wave of his hand, and she doesn't push further. She has learned long ago that there's little purpose and reward in pushing him. He lingers, though, and her next words slip past her lips uncontrolled.

 

_I was worried about you._

 

She can see his muscles tensing in response, fingers flexing by his side. _Ain't gotta be,_ he chokes, clearing his throat and casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.

 

He is so wrong.

 

Carol weighs her next words carefully on her tongue, fully aware that speaking them out loud might push him too far. They have built such a fragile and delicate friendship over the last few months, one she is unwilling to jeopardize. But she also remembers too well her earlier thoughts. She might have lost Daryl today, and she _will_ lose him one day. Before then, she needs him to understand, at least to some small degree, how much he means to her.

 

_But I am,_ she whispers, mindful to keep her voice down and this moment private. _I meant what I said at the farm._ She pauses for a moment, not missing the sudden curiosity in Daryl's eyes. _I can't lose you, too._

 

As the silence around them swallows the echo of her words, Daryl’s expression turns from curiosity to bafflement to a blank slate. He tears his eyes away from her, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, and Carol is afraid that she stepped over the line he drew between them that day in the shed when he turned his back on her. Even now, months later, he still hasn't quite managed to look back.

 

But all her fear is quenched when he suddenly moves, so unexpected that her body tenses briefly in conditioned fear. With two strides, he steps into her space, his water-cooled hands cupping her cheeks. They flame beneath his calloused palms, and she looks up at him with wide eyes.

 

The cold bars of her half-opened cell door press into her back, but Carol waits with bated breath for Daryl to say or do something – anything – and her mind blocks out the pain entirely.

 

_Always gonna come back ta ya,_ he rasps, so quietly that she nearly misses it. He looks almost mad, eyes aflame with determination and dwelling tears, his touch like fire, so bold. She wonders what made him say that, her heart leaping in her chest.

 

_To me?_ she asks, confused, yet unable to suffocate the small flame of hope that flickers inside of her.

 

_Of course,_ he mutters, his breath warm on her lips. He says it like the most obvious thing, but she still remembers all too vividly how he pushed her away all those months ago. Left her naked and yearning. She'd felt hurt, so humiliated. It took her a long time to settle her anger and disappointment, and when the dust settled around them, she began to understand him better. He wasn't disgusted with her as Ed had been, nor was he angry. Most likely, he'd been upset, scared even, by what had nearly happened. Ever since, she's made an effort to mend their broken bond. Neither of them ever made a move to be that close again, so after a while, she made herself familiar with the certainty that he simply didn't want her like that.

 

_I was an ass,_ he grunts now, his thumbs mapping out her cheekbones. _Out on the road. Didn't mean ta hurt ya._ He sounds so genuine, voice breaking as if he's been hurt just as badly as she had been by his actions.

 

_What's the matter with you?_ she asks, not angrily but with confusion, wondering if he's been waiting to hear something like her earlier confession all along. Some kind of reassurance.

 

He takes a violent and shuddering breath and then he's moving again, taking strong steps that back her into her cell. He closes the door with his foot, the curtain fluttering back into place, embracing them in mostly darkness. Almost instantly, he drops his hands, looking down at the ground between them. There is shame in his stance and expression, but Carol doesn't move to breach the distance. Waits instead for the words she can feel lingering between them. The words she needs him to say.

 

_Was a close call out there,_ he finally admits hoarsely, like the memories still haunt him. A chill runs down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake when she tries to imagine what could have happened that has unsettled Daryl so much. The last time she saw him like this, trembling, on the verge of tears, was when he returned to the prison with his brother's blood still warm on his hands. He'd allowed her to hold him then. Just then.

 

_Didn't think I'd-_ He exhales loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. _Fuck. Carol._ He's moving again without warning, but this time her body knows instinctively that she's not in any danger. She's steadfast until he rushes into her space again and then his lips are suddenly on hers. Urgent, forceful, desperately. She nearly loses her balance but his hands are curled around her waist already, pushing her forward until her back thuds into the wall. She barely has time to respond before he pulls away again, looking down at her with countless questions in his eyes.

 

_I thought you didn't want-_ she starts, her breathing ragged, but Daryl shakes his head.

 

_I want ya._ Flames lick at her from the inside, and she suddenly feels nothing but his breath on her lips, his strong hold on her waist, his boots against the sides of her bare feet. _I... I can't lose ya, neither._

 

A soft warmth spreads low in her belly, radiating up towards her chest. In response, a smile blossoms on her face, but she only grants Daryl a second to admire it before she leans up on her toes and kisses him. Softly and slowly and with less despair.

 

_Ain't good enough for ya,_ he mutters into the kiss, and Carol wonders if the tears she can feel between them are his or her own. His lips are chapped but warm and they move against hers willingly despite his words.

 

She parts long enough to shake her head. _That's not true,_ she whispers, leaning in for another kiss and this time it's less soft. It's deeper and more languid and she curls her arms around Daryl's neck to pull him closer. His warm chest presses into her and she sighs. She knows he won't truly believe a word she is saying, but she prays silently that at least in this moment, he feels worthy of her affection.

 

When he pulls away, fear awakens in Carol's chest. This is all too new and unexpected and she expects him to bolt at any second. Almost by reflex, her fingers curl into his hair, longer now at the base of his skull than before. But he makes no move to step away, instead lowers his head and mouths at her throat. Beneath the gentle caress, her pulse point thrashes, and it only grows more rapid when Daryl tightens his fingers' grip around her waist before smoothing down towards the swell of her hips.

 

Easily, his hands slip under her too wide shirt and find bare skin, fingers splaying there, from the small of her back to the dip of her hipbone.

 

_I was a prick,_ Daryl mutters, nudging his nose against the shell of her ear before pressing a kiss on the sensitive skin just below.

 

_You were scared,_ Carol breathes, scraping her fingers gently down the back of his head, relishing in the shiver it draws from him. _It's okay now._ It shouldn't be okay, she shouldn't so easily forgive him. But she wants this too much, him open and raw and honest with her, and forgiveness comes easily.

 

His lips trail open-mouthed kisses down her neck until he finds the hollow of her collarbone. He presses his forehead against it, breathing heavily against her flushed skin. _Wanna be with ya._ He sounds so vulnerable and Carol knows he has his eyes closed when she feels the flutter of his lashes against her skin.

 

With her own eyes still closed, she smooths her hands down his back and over the thick leather of his vest before slipping her hands between them. His stomach muscles jump when her fingers graze them.

 

_We can,_ she assures him, making quick work of his belt. The metal sound of it echoes in the confined space, and Daryl quickly looks up at her.

 

_Not like that,_ he rasps, yet makes no move to stop her. _Wanna_ be _with ya._

 

Carol sucks in a shuddering breath, her hand momentarily freezing at the zipper of his pants. The implications of his words float like a promise between them, but she doesn't quite trust the warmth that envelops her. Daryl looks just as afraid, eyes weary and lips swollen, his face dark with the shadow of a beard and countless cuts and bruises.

 

He wants more than just this. Wants to be more.

 

_I'm here,_ she whispers then, leaning up to brush her lips against his cheek. It's a stark contrast to the bold move of her hand, slipping into his pants to curl around him. He's half-hard already and the groan that trembles in his chest at her touch sends shivers down her spine.

 

She moves her hand slowly but surely, unsure why she's moving this forward so quickly. They should talk (but she knows how much it already cost Daryl to say what little he did). Perhaps she just needs to erase the memories they have already made – frustrating and humiliating.

 

_Ya gotta stop,_ Daryl pants, his hips thrusting into her touch telling a different story. His lips have found her ear, kissing the outer shell softly, and his hands – warm and steady and yet so sweetly shy – move up the plane of her stomach towards her breasts.

 

_Let me do this,_ Carol pleads, her thumb brushing over the tip of him and he makes an almost miserable sound, pressing his hips into hers. _Please._ Resting her head against his shoulder, she breathes gently into the crook of his neck. _You're tired._

 

Something like a choking laughter escapes Daryl, and he looks down at her timidly. _Ain't that tired._

 

Oh, but he must be, Carol wonders as he gently steers her towards her bed. He lowers her down slowly, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt until she nods and he pulls it over her head. It falls away to the ground and Carol feels a sudden chill overcoming her. The mattress dips slightly when Daryl kneels down on it between her slightly spread legs, eyes fixed on hers for a moment longer before he crawls over her.

 

His lips map out the stretch of her collarbone, and Carol struggles to control her hand when they move down his sides. One of Daryl’s hands is pressed into the mattress, keeping most of his weight off her, but the other is braver, cupping the weight of her right breast and sending shock waves through her body like fireworks.

 

She has never felt like this before. Cherished, treasured. Even before Ed, intimacy had been quick and far between. Fumbling experiences in the backseat of someone's car. And then Ed came along and soiled her. But with Daryl it felt different from that first stolen night.

 

His thumb brushes over her hardened nipple, a yelp escaping her that turns into a moan of his name when his warm mouth encloses the sensitive skin. His hips fall into place in the cradle of her thighs, his hardness pressing up against her core just right. Daryl stills, looking up from her flushed breasts, his own cheeks tinted red.

 

_'m so sorry,_ he whispers, and she knows he's not apologizing for the effect she seems to have on him. It's an apology for the last few months, for everything, and before he can see the tears in her eyes Carol leans forward and silences him with a kiss.

 

_Make love to me?_ she whispers against his lips, feeling him trembling above her when her hand moves back into his pants. Daryl nods, panting against her and then he is burying his head in her chest. His hand fumbles between them until he finally traces her inner thigh, moving into the gap of her shorts. The second his fingers ghost over the damp cotton of her underwear, Carol lifts her hips, tilting them towards him.

 

She has no clue what it's like to really make love, and she is almost entirely sure that neither does Daryl.

 

Her grip on him tightens and she moves more fervently, driven by the memories of him inside of her, just barely, of the rush of her own pleasure. His finger slips beneath the cotton, and she thinks she can hear the muffled sound of her own name when he slips through wet skin.

 

_Daryl,_ she gasps, curling her free hand around his neck, her other hand moving almost desperately. His fingers trace her, memorizing her, and her mind reduces to nothing but the feeling of him touching her. Her legs curl around his thighs, locking him in, rocking against him. Only faintly does she hear his pleas, something about _too much_ and _won't last_ and the only reaction she has when he suddenly tries to move away from her touch is to whimper and pull him closer.

 

But then her eyes shoot open when he suddenly groans deeply into the curve of her neck, hips thrusting into her, warmth suddenly spreading between them. Over her hand and the exposed plane of her stomach.

 

She is frozen for a moment longer, just like Daryl's hand inside her underwear. Then, panic begins to rise in her. He is pressing his face against her neck, trying to still the stutter of his hips, and she knows he'll be humiliated, that he'll want to bolt. Quickly, she moves her hand again, drawing another groan from him as she strokes him through his release, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair.

 

Slowly, his breathing calms and she draws her hand away, wiping it against her sheets. Her other hand finds Daryl’s on the mattress, trying to link their fingers, but he is already moving, pushing away from her, her legs falling open and then he's standing at the foot of the bed. His hair a mess, chest heaving and his hands already fumbling with his pants.

 

Sitting up, Carol moves to the edge of the bed, feeling the cool air brushing over her exposed chest. She can still feel his release trickling down her stomach, and doesn't miss the way it catches Daryl’s eyes. He looks horrified.

 

_Daryl, it's okay._ She reaches out her hand towards him but he takes a startled step back, shaking his head. He looks almost like in a trance, headlights shining on him, and her words seem to simply float in the air, unheard. _Please,_ she whispers. _It's okay, stay with me._

 

It doesn't matter to her. All she wants is for him to stay, to fall asleep by her side the way he used to on the road. _Before._ To smooth away his nightmares and hold him close. To _be_ with him. They have time to be together like this. Later. Tomorrow. Two weeks from now.

 

He flinches, shakes his head again. Once more, he mutters something under his breath, something that sounds too much like _not good enough_ and sends daggers flying through her heart. And then, before she can say anything else to stop him, he's bolting towards the door.

 

For one moment, though, he freezes. Turns around. Looks like he wants to say something, something like _I'm sorry_ , but then sighs and disappears into the night.

 

This time, she doesn't feel hurt or humiliated being left behind half-naked and yearning. This time, all she feels is sadness.

 

 

 

Two weeks later, it is her who doesn't return to him. And not by choice.

 

It is Rick she sees growing smaller in the rear view mirror as she leaves the cul-de-sac behind, but it is Daryl's face she imagines back at the prison. Disappointed, crushed. She doesn't allow herself to imagine he'd be sorry that she's gone, that he might even grief for her.

 

Not after what she's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this took so long. I was a bit overwhelmed by real life and too many WIPs but I hope to stick to a more regular posting schedule from now on.
> 
> A small note: the condom issue would have come up again had they actually made it that far, and it will come up again in future chapters - I didn't forget about it.


	4. four.

It's the type of night where sweat pearls under each layer of fabric but goosebumps erupt in waves across every inch of exposed skin. A mild breeze catches in strands of hair, carries the sounds of the night along the clearing. The rustling of leafs, even breathing. Even the scent of smoke still clings to the air, thick and penetrating as it invades their lungs with each breath.

 

Beneath him, the ground is hard and unforgiving even with the worn sleeping bag separating his back from the dried leafs and crumbling earth. But Daryl doesn't pay attention to the soreness that numbs his spine and the twigs that dig into his thighs and arms.

 

His head still throbs from the beats he'd taken, his vision ever so slightly blurred as his eye swells more and more. The taste of blood is constant on his lips, sharp and nauseating.

 

But none of that matters, either.

 

Her words still echo in his mind. _I don't want to talk about it._ The pain contorting her pale face when she spoke them, avoiding his gaze until her eyes nearly dug a hole through his skull (and _God_ how he'd looked at her, not even trying to tear his eyes away, staring his full as his mind told him over and over that he might never get the chance again). Not even the moonlight could put beauty in the horror that haunted her eyes.

 

It can't be just what happened at the prison that has her strung as tightly as a bow string, every muscle in her body rigid and her eyes glassy. Even in the dark, he can make out the shape of her just a foot away from him, her back facing him. She is tense, not moving but for the steady rise and and fall of her breath. Not steady enough, though - it's easy to tell she's just as awake as he is.

 

The others are asleep a little further away, the trees around them providing next to no shelter. But Rick and that red-haired guy are on watch, and for the first time since the prison fell, Daryl feels like he has a moment to breathe. Not to feel safe or to really get any sleep, but to calm down long enough to think about something other than walkers, food and water.

 

She might not want to talk about what happened, but he can't shake the bugging feeling that he should say something, anything to make it clear that he doesn't give a shit about what happened, that it's all right. Whatever she did. Maybe the burning of the prison just means they get a fresh start. A new chance.

 

He needs her to understand just how much it means to him to have her back. After all this time thinking he'd lost her for good it was a damn miracle to see her again. To hold her again. The echo of her embrace still tingles on his skin beneath coarse denim and thick leather, and it takes all the willpower he has not to reach across the sleeping bag and rest his hand between her shoulder blades.

 

She'd disappeared. One morning she'd told him to be careful on the run - a little shy and a little too carefully and that was his fault because he bolted, because he'd been too ashamed - and the next people were dying horribly and she was gone. Sent away to die out here on her own. Anger still fizzles in his veins, anger he had to push aside to stay alive. But his eyes flicker towards Rick’s silhouette across the clearing, and he can't rid himself off the rage. Like an old wound, it throbs.

 

He'd damn well nearly killed him when Rick told him what he did. That he sent Carol away because she did what she felt she had to do to keep them all safe. To save his children. Maybe he'd have thrown him down the railing, beat his head to a pulp the way he did with Merle (fresh grief mingling explosively with years upon years of old anger). Maybe. Maybe.

 

But he never got a chance.

 

And when he ran into Rick again out on that dark road, what other choice did he have than to take his side? To risk his life to save him, to save Michonne and the kid? It's a terrifying thought to imagine what he might have done if it had been just Rick and Joe's gun to his head. Like the solution to all his anger served on a silver platter. To look Rick in the eye during his last breath, knowing he could have saved him but choosing not to because he... took the only thing that ever truly mattered.

 

Because nothing ever mattered as much to him as Carol does. It's why he told her that night at the prison that he'd always come back to her, a foolish promise he could never keep, not in this world. Not in any world. But he'd told her all the same, just as afraid of saying the words as he'd been of her never finding out.

 

She is everything he never had. Softness and kindness, gentleness and forgiveness, words and silence all alike, a kiss and an embrace as much as distance, a breath of fresh air and the warmth of familiarity.

 

And damn it if he wouldn't kill for her without even a flicker of doubt. Even Rick.

 

Daryl shakes the thought off, feeling tense just imagining it- it's not who he is. Nor will he ever be that man (and she has forgiven rick because it's who _she_ is, kind and compassionate and willing to give so much for so little in return – and he hates that he can't at least be the one to give her something more, some safety and just a flicker of compassion).

 

Sighing into the darkness, he reaches out, his fingertips just barely brushing her arm. He needs to know that she's really here, that he didn't imagine her in a rush of adrenaline and fear. But she flinches away from his touch almost instantly, curling into herself and he draws his hand away quickly. Quietly, it falls onto the crunching leafs between them.

 

_Thought ya were gone,_ he chokes, his throat tied up. And he did. Imagined her torn apart by walkers in some rain-slicked alley way. Robbed and beaten up by other people, left alone to die in the dust of the Georgia roads. Starved and parched on a thin mattress in some dead family's house with nothing but bad memories to hold onto. He'd meant what he shouted at Beth that day, fueled by booze and guilt alike – that they'd never see any of the others again.

 

For a long moment, Carol is quiet as he tries to will away all of those thoughts. Then, bitterly, she replies. _I'm here._

 

Even though her words are clear enough to understand, they feel and taste like a lie. Whatever happened to her on the road, whatever she feels about what she had to do at the prison, it now towers between them, unspoken but casting shadows even in the dark. He knows a simple _it don't matter_ or _ya did the right thing_ won't fix this.

 

_Thought I'd never..._ The words turn to ashes on his tongue and he can't bring himself to say the rest. That he thought he’d never see her again, and how that felt more like the end of the world than the actual end ever did. Instead, he sighs once more. A bitter sound that mingles with the rustling of the leafs above their heads.

 

He gets no response to his broken confession, but Carol releases a long, slow breath, and then twists her body to reach behind herself. A cold hand easily finds his on the dry ground, their fingers locking together almost as if they have done nothing but this all their lives. The wish that they had is so bittersweet that it melts before the thought can truly take form.

 

She tugs, less gently than he is used to, but he follows willingly. The leafs rustle just briefly as he moves in closer until her back presses into his chest. Their folded hands rest against her stomach, and suddenly all his anger is wiped away.

 

_You didn't have to run,_ Carol whispers, and he knows she is talking about the last time they were this close before everything fell apart. Those precious moments in the moonlit darkness of her cell. For weeks, he scolded himself for running away from her then. Now, however, it's easy to tell that that is the least of their problems.

 

He didn't want to run, to leave her behind like that again. No. It hurt to bolt out of her cell instead of curling up against her on her bunk. It damn near brought him to tears to clean up in the shower room instead of kissing her breathless. It made him cower in shame to walk back through the dark prison instead of feeling her come apart under him. It only proved that she deserved more than him when he found no sleep that night, all alone instead of by her side.

 

There are many things he should do and Daryl knows that. Apologize. Tell her how he really feels now that he has been given a second chance. Give her some space to come to terms with whatever she suffered through. But he is too weak now, too desperately aware of her to do any of that.

 

Instead, he leans down and presses his chapped, blood-crusted lips to the back of her neck. She has washed away the walker guts that had kept her safe, and he nudges his nose against the wispy, damp curls of her hair, allowing his eyes to close.

 

She hums softly, so quietly that he feels the vibrations more than he can hear the sound. _I didn't want you to leave,_ she whispers sadly, and it's almost like an accusation. Maybe if he hadn't left that night, everything would be different. Butterfly effect and shit. Maybe they'd never have gotten separated (they could make it out there, just the two of them, and it's a thought that is as ripe with promise and temptation as it is with a sense of dread). Maybe there wouldn't be so much distance between them now, even as he buries his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her.

 

There is no denying that her words hurt, and he shudders against her, tears prickling in his closed eyes. Something about them sounds so terrifyingly final, almost as if she just omitted the _but it's too late now_ part.

 

He brushes his lips against her pulse point, seeking some reassurance. Almost instantly, she responds, pushing her body back against his until no space remains between them. One of her legs worms its way between his, rubbing up against his groin and his body responds without hesitation. She has to know. Still, she only clasps his hand tighter, the other reaching up at an awkward angle to find purchase in his hair, sifting through the strands for a moment. He grunts in response, shivers running down his spine, and she is merciful enough to draw her hand away.

 

His hips buck up against her, the friction of her warm body against his hardness almost too much to bear. Memories flash back into his mind, the fear of making a fool of himself again nearly suffocating him. He holds back, grinding his teeth as she circles her hips and drags his hand up over her stomach and towards her breasts. Encouraging him instead of sending him away.

 

It's confusing, a hazy mess that burns brightly in his veins. White hot and thick and he has to stifle a moan against her shoulder when his thumb drags over the stiff peak of a nipple straining against worn cotton.

 

Carol releases a shuddering breath, craning her slender, freckled neck invitingly.

 

The frail sound tears through the silence and Daryl briefly tenses, reminded that they are far from being alone. It was nowhere near loud enough to wake any of the others, but it serves as a warning. They can't take this too far, not without the risk of being caught. It's a humiliating thought, but the need to be close to her again is overwhelmingly stronger. He can't just _stop_ now.

 

Sucking softly at her neck and palming the weight of her breast, Daryl allows his mind to wander. Imagines kissing her, long and deep with his hands in her soft hair. Imagines pushing her pants down enough to reach inside, to feel her wet and warm and tight around his fingers. Imagines the way she'd quiver under him at his touch the way she used to. Memories and fantasies mingle in his mind and he squeezes his eyes shut almost to the point of pain, bucks his hips against her and imagines that he's sinking deep and silkily inside of her until she breathes his name into the dark.

 

_Carol,_ he whimpers, a plead and a dare. They could do this if they're being smart about it. The group is big enough to give everybody a flickering sense of security and he can feel the exhaustion of their ordeal in his own bones - surely the others must be just as wrecked. They are all asleep except for the two men on watch, and those are far enough away, paying them no attention.

 

After all, Glenn and Maggie never held back during those months on the road after they lost the farm. They all pretended not to hear them then, the stifled gasps and whimpers. Now, they might as well grant them the same courtesy. But he knows it won't happen, that he'll never go through with it.

 

She deserves better than this, out here in the dirt. She deserves so much better. So much better than him.

 

With a sting of sadness and loss, Daryl stills the bucking of his hips, moves his hand away from her breast to find purchase in the curve of her waist, keeping her from moving too much and making this all the more difficult for him. He leans forward, seeks out her lips for a kiss he has been longing for for weeks. But she tenses again like she did earlier, and he pulls away just as quickly before he can do more than brush his lips against the corner of her mouth.

 

Maybe there is a line now, invisible and complicated, one that wasn't there before (and he can't help but wonder if maybe he forced her to draw this line somewhere along the way).

 

_We should stop,_ Carol breathes, a little mournful but also with enough determination to send cold chills down bis spine.

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Daryl nods weakly against her shoulder. _Yeah._

 

He shifts on the ground, moving away from her against the tug in his chest that tells him to move closer instead, to wrap her up in his arms and keep her from fading away like a dream in the hazy hours of the morning.

 

Suddenly, everything feels cold and distant between them. A hollow space where something else used to be. An understanding, a silent agreement and shy but hopeful hesitation. He feels far from brave now, more rejected than ever before and yet he feels like he truly deserves it this time. Maybe what happened to them both is a wicked punishment for all the time they have wasted.

 

He has barely moved a few inches when Carol's fingers curl tightly around his, holding him in place. Petrified, he holds his breath. Waiting.

 

Her thumb smooths over his palm, slow and steady. _I was-_ she mutters, words balancing on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t take the leap and silence takes over. Whatever she wanted to say is lost in the night.

 

Lost in that same place she crawls into, far out of his reach.

 

He sleeps restlessly that night, haunted by the smell and feel of her as well as the stench of burning flesh and the tightness of rope stealing his breath. He should have died today, was just seconds away from it. But then she came back to him, keeping _his_ promise.

 

 

 

The sun is just beginning to rise, easing the pitch black sky into a softer hue of midnight blue, when he jolts awake. Carol is sitting up by his side, breathing heavily, and the hand he'd been holding is clutching her jacket, his own abandoned on the ground.

 

_Y'all right?_ he asks hoarsely, panic rising in him as he takes in her trembling silhouette.

 

Carol doesn't turn to look at him as he sits up, his shoulder brushing hers just slightly. The simple touch has her tensing and he wonders where she is, the woman who just a handful of weeks ago asked him to make love to her in a dimly lit cell with her lips just a breadth away from his own.

 

She nods weakly, pursing her lips. He doesn't believe her, but if this is what she wants him to believe, then he'll accept it for now.

 

_Go back to sleep,_ he pleads quietly, uselessly smoothing out her sleeping bag with the flat of his palm. But she shakes her head, fists her fingers into the worn fabric. _Ya gotta rest._

 

There is a hitch to his voice that apparently surprises Carol as much as him, and she abruptly turns her head. Neither of them expected to be quite this close, and Daryl pretends not to notice the way her blue eyes glisten with tears. Her breath is warm and damp on his cheeks, and he can see her taking in the cuts and bruises that are scattered all over his face, her own features softening until she sighs.

 

He wants to kiss her so badly, wants to curl his hand around her neck and pull her into an embrace until she falls asleep again. It seems like just his luck to know that he had the chance to do that once and cast it away out of unfounded fear. It's not anger he detects in her familiar eyes. Instead, it's disappointment, almost as if she's mourning the loss of what they might have had as much as he is.

 

_So should you,_ she breathes, and then she takes him by surprise when she leans forward and brushes her lips against his cheek. Lingering there, he feels her body trembling, and a warm wetness coats his cheekbone. Before he can say anything, she moves away, drawing her fingertips over the back of his hand with a sad smile curling her lips. Then she stands, steps over her bag and his crossbow, and makes her slow and quiet way towards the edge of camp.

 

To take over watch. To get away from him.

 

It's _something_ at least, Daryl thinks as he wipes her tears from his cheek, knowing it was real, that he didn't make it all up. But it also makes the pain so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt a bit different to me while writing than the others did. Maybe it's because there's less smutty times in it, maybe it's because the focus lies somewhere else. One way or the other, I still hope you liked this. I also feel like Carol's time during her exile and the changes her character went through kind of mean a shift for the story. Nothing in particlar held them back here (unlike in chapters before). It was a choice this time.


	5. five.

She is quick on her feet, boots making hardly any sound against the rich grass that sprouts from the ground. Her heart pumps ferociously, every nerve ending in her body buzzing with the need to get away. A part of her, frightful and cowering still in the back of her mind, remnant of days gone by, feels chased and trapped, like prey.

 

_Daryl, let me go!_ she hisses as a warm hand curls around her upper arm from behind. The instant her words pass her tongue he drops his hand, but the moment is enough to freeze them both. Breathing rather heavily, they stand there between two white houses, hidden in the shadows as the setting sun tints the streets of Alexandria in a hazy, orange glow.

 

_Just wanna talk to ya._ The sudden defeat in Daryl's voice catches Carol off guard and she turns to face him. But his eyes are cast down towards the ground, his boots covered in dust. He looks exhausted from working on the wall all day, his shoulder still a little tense from where he was wounded no longer than two short weeks ago. The sight of that, arm curled slightly, shoulders hunched, reminds Carol of the ache that still thrums down the length of her own spine, bruises painting the expanse of her back in all familiar shades of midnight blue and velvety purple.

 

The same exhaustion must reflect in her eyes. But most of all, Daryl looks ashamed.

 

Only slowly does the weight of his words register in her brain, and she feels her body going rigid. She knows exactly what brought this on, what it is he feels the need to discuss. Nervously, she fidgets with the sleeve of her cardigan, powder blue and innocent. This. This armor and facade she has built, the woman she pretends to be and the void that has opened between them since....

 

Since they found each other again.

 

She' s certain that Daryl - kind, caring and so heartbreakingly insecure and fragile - is convinced that he at least partly caused this shift in her. But he couldn't be more wrong.

 

_Talk about what?_ she returns, mouth dry and the words monotonous. Even though it pains her to imagine him suffering through inaccurate guilt, she can not confess the truth. Not to him. _Especially_ not him.

 

Daryl looks up then, most of his face obscured by the mess of his hair - her fingers twitch with the need to tuck it behind his ear, but she clenches them into white-knuckled fists instead.

 

Slowly, he takes a step forward. Instantly, she retorts, stepping back on the soft grass, feeling much like a bird trapped in a snare with the walls of the houses closing in on her. Daryl's mere presence suddenly feels like a threat because she knows how well he can read her, how difficult it would be to lie in front of him.

 

_Ya know exactly 'bout what,_ Daryl says with a low voice as rough as gravel, sending shivers down her battered spine. He stops when she retreats and anger begins to simmer inside of her. He should know better than to push her like this.

 

Shaking her head, Carol struggles to make her next words appear nonchalant. _There's nothing to talk about._

 

She turns to leave then, the conversation ended, but before she has taken even three steps Daryl has moved around her - sometimes it's easy to forget just how swift he can be - and she gasps in

surprise. Instinctively, she takes a step backwards, but Daryl is right there with her, moving into her space and no matter how far she moves to get way, he follows.

 

By the time her shoulder blades graze the smooth wooden panels covering the house, Daryl is standing in front of her with barely a foot of space between them.

 

_Hell yes there is!_ Daryl barks, startling her with the loud grind of his voice. He hasn't talked to her like this in a very long time, his ever present anger usually deflating when she is around (she's learned to accept that long ago, the though once warming her heart). Crippled memories flash through her, back from a time when he raised his voice the same way. Full of rage and disappointment. When she gave up hope of ever finding her little girl. When she desperately tried to hold onto him after they lost her.

 

Maybe the echo of those memories ghosts across her face, or maybe Daryl just realizes how harsh he's acting. He sighs, his features softening, and takes a defeated step backwards. _Please._

 

Most of her anger melts into misery in this moment, her body going slack, held upright now by the wall behind her.

 

_Daryl, don't do this,_ she pleads hoarsely, her hand briefly reaching out towards him but then falling limply to her side. _Please._

 

His eyes flicker down to her pale hand and then he moves so quickly that she can barely yelp in surprise before he takes a step forward. The hard planes of his body press her against the wall, and his lips slant over hers within the breadth of a second. It knocks the breath right out of her lungs and she freezes for a second, petrified as he claims her mouth angrily. But her body betrays her and when his tongue traces the seam of her lips she parts them easily and with a needy whimper, her fingers curling into the rigid leather of his vest to steady herself.

 

Her teeth sink into the soft flesh of his lower lip, chapped and dry but so _warm_ and eager. He grunts in response, his hands finding her hips and digging into them through the layers of her clothes.

 

With a heavy exhale Daryl pulls away, just barely enough to bury his head in the crook of her neck. _I miss ya,_ he pants, his warm breath grazing her thrumming pulse point. She's helpless, clutching him to her, dragging her nails up the slope of his neck.

 

It more than encourages him, a violent shiver running through his body. _Fuck,_ he hisses, his hands smoothing over her hips and thighs and then he lifts her easily into the air just as he sucks the tender skin of her neck between his lips. Hard enough to leave a bruise behind, but she is beyond caring as she instinctively curls her legs around his waist.

 

For one brief second, he falters a little under her weight, his injured side buckling before he regains his balance.

 

He is trapped there in the cradle of her thighs, hard and pressing right against the seam of her pants. The friction is so perfect that she can't suppress the moan that tears violently from her throat.

 

The sound causes Carol to stiffen against him, eyes darting towards the street not far away. They are hidden in the shadows and she can't see anyone walking on the sidewalk from here. But they are not invisible, nothing hiding them from view except the angle of the houses.

 

_We can't!_ she gasps, terrified now that someone might see. The words come out breathy and low, and her head falls back against the wall with a dull thud. There is a different kind of fear, though, and it nearly brings tears into her eyes as Daryl mouths kisses down her neck. She's not ready for this. She's not who she used to be, not the woman Daryl came to care so much about. She's not even sure anymore if _she_ is  still the same woman who learned to care about him so much.

 

She is not good for him (and the bitter irony of it isn't lost on her, memories of Daryl stating the very same fear still sharp as claws in her mind).

 

Still, despite all of it, she scrapes her nails over the back of his skull, grinds her hips into his hardness, pants into the quiet of the evening.

 

_Why?_ Daryl rasps, dragging his teeth down the front of her throat, goosebumps erupting all over her arms at the sensation. He is meeting each grinding circle of her hips with an almost desperate thrust, and the friction is numbing all her rational thoughts, dulling even the pain of her sore back rutting against the wooden panels behind her. It's thrilling and harsh and so unlike what they have had before. All teeth and nails and moans muffled against the swell of her breast and her palm when she sinks her teeth into the flesh.

 

Whimpering against him, her free hand clutches his head to her chest. _Let me go,_ she sighs, a fickle plea that is rendered useless by the moan that follows it. It's not this physical thing between them that she is talking about, her body arching into his making that very clear. What she wants, needs, prays for is for him to lose hope, to give up on her, finally. Because as he lifts his head to seek out her mouth again she realizes that she is holding on for him (barely dangling by a thread). For their family, but mostly for him.

 

_Can't,_ Daryl murmurs into her mouth, sucking at her bottom lip. Clumsily, he frees one hand from her thigh, trusting her to hold herself up against him. She doesn't protest when that hand sneaks between them to cup her breast, nothing gentle about the way he pinches a nipple through the cotton of her clothes.

 

She's grateful for that, though, convinced that any gentleness would only break her right now. Instead, she cherishes the furious way Daryl kisses her, clutches at his shoulders until her nails leave crescent marks in the thick and worn leather of his vest. For the first time in weeks, she _feels_ something other than dull pain.

 

_It's not-_ she pants, barely able to catch her breath as Daryl thrusts against her, the muscles of her abdomen contracting almost to the point of pain. _I don't want-_ Daryl pulls away instantly, just enough to meet her gaze.

 

His own eyes are dark and glazed, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Anger pours from every pore. _Tell me ya don't want this,_ he presses, the words barely audible through his gritted teeth.

 

She knows it's his anger and frustration that makes him this confident, that a few months ago he would have run away by now, afraid he crossed a line. He wouldn't be so convinced that she wanted him, no matter how wrecked she was in his arms, no matter how many words of encouragement she rasped in his ear. _Look at me!_ His fingers curl at her chin and lift her head when she stares down at his heaving chest, and she nearly falters under his penetrating stare. _Tell me ya don't._

 

She can't say it. Can’t lie to his face, and what good would it do when he can feel the warmth of her through his pants, her breath on his cheeks, see the raw need in her eyes? _Daryl-_ she chokes, desperate and at loss, but then he is kissing her again, silencing her. She whimpers into the bruising kiss when he reaches between them, scabbed knuckles digging into the softness of her belly and it's only when she hears the familiar clinking of metal that she realizes he's unbuckling his belt.

 

That alone has something low in her belly tugging violently, drawing her hips closer against his.

 

Daryl groans so deeply that she can feel the vibrations of it in his chest, humming against her breasts where her nipples are straining against the cotton of her bra, dragging along Daryl’s vest. _I need you,_ he rasps into her mouth and she swallows the words greedily, curling her fingers into his hair to pull him closer.

 

She feels drunk, and the same must be true for Daryl. It's not how she wants this to happen, angry and greedy, driven by fear. But she can't let him slip through her fingers now, not when she feels so good. _You,_ Daryl repeats, punctuating the words with a nudge of his nose against hers, strangely intimate and sweet in comparison to the desperate grind of their hips and bruising kisses. There is an accusing tint to his voice that does more than just cause her to shudder. It proves that he _understands_.

 

His pants are open, the zipper dragged down, the harsh metal clasp of the belt digging into her abdomen. It's all so close, his fingers popping open the button of her pants. She can feel her core clenching, the memory of him inside her - just barely, but _God_ does she cling to the fluttering memory - driving her mad with want and need. She is just about ready to give in, to just let this happen and finally allow them this moment, but then Daryl speaks again, muttering against her cheek.

 

_Whatever happened, it don't mean what'ya think it does._ As he speaks, he shoves his hand into her pants, rough callouses dragging over her smooth lower belly and abdomen until his fingers slip through the warm, soft wetness between her legs. His words are just as rough, like gravel that drags between them, and she tenses instantly.

 

The weight of her secrets crashes down on her, sucking all the air from her lungs, and instead of Daryl's warm fingers slipping knuckle deep inside of her, all she feels is the cold hold of dead hands. Dead bodies that she left behind.

 

_Stop!_ she gasps, and once more, Daryl understands. This time, he freezes, his head drawing back so quickly that he must be dizzy from the effort. _We-_ Carol gasps, struggling to breathe, mind clouded with the agonizing mix of desire and despair, pleasure and disgust. _I can't._

 

For a moment, Daryl stares at her, lips parted. She can't read him, a confusing mingle of disappointment and concern marking his features. But then he pulls his hand from her (his fingers _out_ of her, a slow drag that causes her to shudder against her will because despite all this feels _so good_ ), and then his hands find her thighs and help lower her back to the ground.

 

She stands on unsteady feet and numb legs, fumbles with the button and zipper on her pants, fingers trembling. She can see him taking a step back, his hands curled into fists by his side again.

 

_I should've-_ he starts, sounding weak and small and utterly defeated once again, and she can't bear to listen to it, can't bear to carry the burden of his pain, too.

 

_No,_ she interrupts him, looking up with tears brimming in her eyes. He makes for a sorry sight, all tense and disheveled with his pants undone. _No, Daryl._ She knows what he wants to say. That they should have done this a long, long time ago, that he blames himself for all the times they couldn't make it work. But she can't share the load, not now, not anymore.

 

Sucking in a shuddering breath and smoothing out her cardigan, she tries not to let the imagine of him like this burn itself into her memory. Knowing she will fail.

 

Instead of telling him the truth (that this isn't his fault, that it was never his fault, that maybe they could have made this work once, that she _does_ want him, oh so much) she steps past him and walks away. Heading towards the street bathed in sunset rose, there is nothing left to say.

 

All she can think about is if Daryl felt even half this bad every time he walked away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update comes a little early, but I had some downtime at work today and felt inspired. It's also a bit shorter than the other chapters, but I hope that's okay. 
> 
> I'm glad that this is the last _almost_ scenario because I'm starting to get a little frustrated myself :)


	6. the one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning that this contains **spoilers** for season seven. Since almost none of it has aired yet, it's more assumptions and interpretations of spoilers, but if you want to avoid all spoilers, then you should maybe wait and read this chapter in a few weeks.

When she finally returns, it's a quiet day. One of the rare ones that comes with a promise of peace in the air – and yet nobody can really taste the sweetness of it when so many have been lost, all the loved ones who they can no longer share the brief moment of serenity with having left a deep gap.

 

He is talking to Rick outside, hands buried in his pockets to shield them from the surprisingly cold breeze – or maybe just because he no longer knows what to do with himself. A commotion near the gate finishes their conversation and they both reach for their guns instinctively, a similar look of panic flashing through their eyes.

 

Quickly, they make their way over, and when Daryl sees the source of everyone's chatter, he freezes.

 

Carol stands there by the still open gate, her face still so very pale, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Around her, many others have gathered, hugging her, welcoming her back. Awe and curiosity spark as people whisper and smile and watch with confusion. Many of them don't know what happened to her, presumed her dead for a long time. It's an easy conclusion to come up with – after all, she disappeared the same day that...

 

Looking overwhelmed, Carol barely moves, her fingers curling into tense fists whenever someone embraces her. The smiles she gives are thin-lipped and strained.  
  
All Daryl can do for the longest moment is to stare, to take her in. He can't fully grasp the fact that she finally decided to come back – to come _home_. It's been weeks since he last saw her, and even longer still since he first saw her again _after_ , when he came to her at the house she hid in. When finally, for the first time in so long, her walls came crumbling down. All strength and faith to hold onto the hope she might one day defeat her demons and return had been suffocated before he even knew she was gone.

 

In her eyes, though, he can still see her demons lingering with fiery gazes and sharp claws.

 

Eventually, she finds him in the crowd, her eyes settling on him. Perhaps it's only wishful thinking, but Daryl could bet that some tenderness takes over the spring sky blue. Still, sadness weighs her down, it's evident in her every move, but some of the determination has returned to her that he has missed for so long. It's cut as sharp as marble, but well hidden behind a veil of all she had to pay for it.

  
She pulls out of Michonne's embrace, offers her friend a kind smile before stepping towards them. Daryl is still petrified, watching motionlessly as Rick steps forward to welcome her back. He wraps his arms around her as if he has the right to do so, and from just a few feet away, Daryl thinks he can hear a whispered apology.

 

Carol weakly shakes he head, pats Rick's shoulder but pulls away quickly, her eyes never breaking contact with Daryl’s.

 

Every muscle in his body threatens to snap, his fingers still curled around his gun. As she slowly steps towards him, he thinks it must all be a cruel dream, much like the ones he endured in captivity. All those times she would come to him in his restless sleep to soothe his pain away, only for him to wake up to aching limbs and troubled thoughts – all the pain and guilt draining the life from him all over again.

 

But she is real now, stepping up to him with tears dwelling in her eyes. He doesn't offer protest when she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls herself flush against him, her head resting against his shoulder. The scent of her is familiar and finally breaks him. He inhales it deeply, buying his head in the crook of her neck as his arms come up around her. Nothing could fit between them anymore, his gun hitting the ground.

 

_Ya came back._ It's no more than a breathless gasp, muffled by the soft skin of her neck. He can feel her shivering in his arms just before she nods. Then, softly, secretly, her lips press against his pulse point for nobody to see, and all falls suddenly, violently, gently into place.

 

  
  
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. They all gather around – those of them who are left – updating Carol on everything that has happened. Nobody wants this to be her welcome home, but it's necessary, simply too dangerous to keep anyone in the dark.

 

She listens quietly, rocking Judith on her lap, eyes glazed. Daryl doesn't add anything to the conversation, sits on the edge of his chair and watches her instead. Still not believing she is really back. Trying to decipher if she's really ready to be here again amongst all of them, caught in the middle of this war. A part of him could rest somewhat easy knowing she was safe all this time.

 

Eventually, people begin to leave with quiet, hesitant words of how happy they are that she came back. That she belongs here, that they're all a family, no matter what it takes. He wonders if they really understand, any of them.

 

Suddenly, it's just the two of them in the room, the sun beginning to set outside. It casts a rosy glow through the windows, and he watches the way the light dances on her freckled nose.

 

She is looking down at her hands, folded delicately in her lap. The silence between them, once so soothing and familiar, has suddenly grown uncomfortable – too many unspoken words fill it now. But Daryl chews on something to say for a few minutes; what is there to say? Above all, she reminds him of a scared, starved animal, and he's afraid that even affection (especially affection) might scare her away.

 

_Ya gotta be tired,_ he says eventually, quietly. Watching as she flinches before it seems to register that she is home. Safe. With him.

 

She nods but doesn't say a word when she slowly rises from the chair and walks over towards him. Her hand trembles a little when she reaches it out, most of her earlier confidence crumbling right in front of his eyes. She's afraid.  
  
Without even a hint of hesitation, Daryl takes her hands (her finger are _so_ cold that he instantly tightens his grip) and he swallows deftly as he allows her to pull him from the edge of his chair. She leads him towards the stairs and he follows her up the stairs silently, his heart racing as she leads him towards her old bedroom – unused and untouched now.

 

The door closes behind them with a thud that seems too loud in the silence that engulfs them, the room almost entirely bathed in darkness now that the sun is making its rapid decent.   
  
Daryl's hands feel clammy and she surely can feel it, brushing her thumb back and forth across the back of his hand in a soothing rhythm.   
  
_I want to live,_ she whispers as they stand there by the door. Her voice is frail but sure and Daryl struggles to understand what she means, held back by his fear of allowing even the smallest hint of hope. After all this... Her voice breaks then and the tears he saw dwelling in her eyes earlier finally overwhelm her, her body shivering as she cries.

 

He wants this, wants _her_. Wants things to go back to the way they were, back to a time when they could have been something. But after everything that happened, he can't bring himself to reach out his free hand and wipe her tears away, to hold her close. In his mind, he still sees Glenn, is brought face to face with all he and Maggie lost that day because of him. Why should he deserve even a flicker of that?

 

So, he stands there frozen and silent as Carol cries by herself.

 

For a while, she allows him his space, doesn't push, doesn't plead or ask for anything to comfort her. But eventually, when most of her sobs have simmered down to soft hiccups, she takes a cautious step towards him, breathing his name. _Daryl..._  
  
He turns away from her instantly, dropping her hand (feeling the pressure of it still tingling on his palm). _I can't._

  
It dawns on him slowly, painfully, like someone tearing his heart out of his chest string by string as he screams into the void for nobody to hear. After all this time, after all these chances that they ruined or that were taken from them, they finally stand on the threshold of all they wanted. And now he can't be with her.

 

Her boots make barely a sound when she slowly steps up behind him. Daryl tenses the moment she wraps her arms around his torso, clasping her fingers firmly over his stomach in a knot he's too weak to untie. The warmth of her cheek presses between his shoulder blades and his eyes flutter shut in defeat.

 

_Just... stay?_ she pleads delicately, and it costs him all the strength he has left to push through his own demons and comply. With trembling fingers he reaches up to cover her hand with one of his own. He's grateful she can't see the tears that dwell in his eyes, turning the sunset sky outside the window into an oil painting.

 

He knows that part of the reason he can't let go is because he's terrified she'll disappear again. So, without a fight, he allows her to wrap herself around him, her chest rising and falling against his back with each breath, her thumb brushing over his stomach, his own fingers feathering across her wrist and forearm.

 

They are both exhausted, and eventually, Carol tugs him carefully towards the bed. Briefly, he feels panic flaring inside of him where his heart stutters against his ribs, but then she pulls him down behind her with a pleading look.

 

He sighs when his head sinks into the pillow, his front pressed against Carol's back. If he could, he might allow himself a moment to pretend that this moment is as peaceful as it promises to be. The curls of her hair tickling his nose, her fingers drawing on his forearm, her legs tangled with his own.  
  
But he can't pretend. Hell, he was never good at that.

 

_When ya told me 'bout the girls..._ , he begins, breathing the words against the nape of Carol's neck. _Did it help?_ He remembers the day, the stoic way in which Carol told him what he always feared he knew. To her, it had been a confession, but to him, it had been everything but that.

 

Now, Carol is quiet, tensing a little in his arms. Her fingers stop feathering across his arm where they have left goosebumps in their wake, until eventually, she nods.

 

For a good long while, Daryl wonders. Turns the words over and over in his mind. The weight of them presses on his lungs, makes his temples throb. They feel like bile lodged deep in his throat and when he finally does mutter them, he instantly feels like he can breathe freely for the first time in so long.  
  
 _'s my fault. Glenn._

 

His confession fades into silence and in the aftermath, time freezes. But then, slowly, the still frame of them wrapped up in each other melts away and he feels fear prickling in his veins when Carol begins to shift. But she doesn't pull away in the wake of finding out the truth. Instead, she turns in his arms until her face is right in front of him, so close he can see the glistening of tears in her eyes and feel the warmth of her breath.   
  
_No,_ she whispers simply.

  
He suspected she'd try to talk him out of his guilt, that it wasn't his fault, that he wasn't trying to get their friend killed. Hell, of course he fucking wasn't! But he should've known, should've just stayed quiet. Thing is: he thought _he'd_ be the one to die as punishment. Not someone else. _Ya wasn't there. I-_ His hoarse argument is silenced when Carol presses a soft finger to his mouth.

  
_Whatever happened, it was Negan. Not you,_ she says quietly. He wants to speak again, wants to defend his own demons because they are rooted so deep, but she won't let him. Interrupts him before he even manages to part his lips under her gentle touch. _Not you._

 

She gives him no chance to react, to speak up or move away. Instead, she trails her finger from his mouth upwards until her hand cradles his cheek and breaches the miniscule distance between them to press her lips to his. It's a kiss so featherlight he barely feels it and she pulls away again before he has the opportunity to respond or pull back himself (he's not certain what he would have done as his blood rushes in his ears).

 

Her hand is gentle when she runs it into the strands of his hair, and Daryl sighs, trying to remember if he ever felt anything so tender. Closing his eyes, he tries to commit it all to memory, pleading with his mind to let it erase all the pain he felt before.  
  
They stay like this for a while, his hand finding purchase on her hip while Carol sifts her fingers through his hair, trails the pad of her thumb over the shell of his ear, grazes his temple and cheekbone every now and then.  
  
 _Wasn't sure you were gonna come back,_ he breathes, still not opening his eyes but drawing the image of her behind his closed lids easily. Her freckled nose, the serene blue of her eyes, the pink of her lips.

  
Carol sighs, her hand finding rest against the side of his neck. _I'm here now._

  
Daryl's eyes flutter open then, her words sounding almost like a question. _Ya sure ya ready?_ he asks, worried that he will get an answer that will only stir his fear of losing her again.

  
She looks weary, her eyes flickering down to where her hand rests against his skin. _I'm not sure either of us are,_ she says somberly, eyes distant, lost in memories. _But maybe we can be._ A short pause, her eyes flickering up to hold his gaze. _I hope so._  
  
  


Daryl nods, trying to swallow the lump quickly forming in his throat.  
  
 _Wish I could make it okay,_ he confesses, trailing his hand along her forearm and the dip of her elbow. _All of it._

 

Clearly hesitating, Carol looks down between them, her breath stuttering slightly before she speaks. _There's one thing you could make okay._

  
Confused, Daryl's brows rise up, disappearing behind the mess of his hair. _What's that?_

 

When she kisses him again, his eyes widen briefly. It's more demanding now, lingering instead of fleeting, and he closes his eyes and kisses her back in spite of everything telling him not to. He remembers the touch of her lips, soft and languid. The taste of her, all sweet. He'd drown in it all and die as happy as he can be, he thinks when she sighs against him.

 

But when her tongue traces the seam of his lips, he pulls away, his breathing a little labored. _That ain't gonna fix anything,_ he insists, easing the grip of his hand on her wrist which he didn't even realize until now.  
  
 _I know,_ Carol sighs, leaning in for yet another kiss. He can't help but part his lips for her, allowing her to trace her tongue along his bottom lip before slipping into his mouth, warm and shy. His hand slips to her waist, fingers digging into the softness of her flesh as her leg slips between his. _But..._ , Carol mutters into the kiss, struggling to form the word.   
  
He understands, nods and quickly kisses away her inability to explain herself. After all this time, they both know this might be their last chance. Instead of succumbing to fear and bad luck over and over, they need to pull themselves together and face this together. After all, they started it together, a long time ago.

 

Something seems to come to life between them with each brush of their lips, a frenzy they both keep tucked away. Carol curls her hands around his arms then, pulling him with her as she rolls onto her back.

  
_Ain't got anything,_ he rasps hoarsely when he feels himself hardening against her. He bites back the string of curses that sit ready on the tip of his tongue. After the incident in the shed that winter, he tucked away a handful of condoms the next time they found a store that carried them. And for so long after, he carried them with him, even though he never thought at the time that they'd ever... But now, he's empty handed.   
  
Seemingly unfazed by his words, Carol moves her hands under his shirt and runs her palms over his stomach. A shudder runs through him at the gentle touch, and he lowers his head.  
  
 _We're good,_ she whispers into the crook of his neck, her legs falling open so he can fall into the cradle of her thighs without much prompting from either of them. He can't quite suppress the groan that tears from him when he brushes up against her core, and he doesn't miss Carol's soft whimper, either. _I haven't-_ she begins to explain, sucking in a long breath as she tilts her hips upwards. _We're good._

 

He doesn't know exactly what the hell she's talking about, only has a suspicion. But he's not going to make her spell it out for him now. Her lips brush tenderly against the sensitive skin below his ear and Daryl sighs, dropping his head to her shoulder in defeat. _Don't wanna risk it,_ he whispers, his hand finding her cheek as he looks up at her. _Don't want ya to get hurt._  
  
The look in her eyes wavers from mild shock to something beaming with gratefulness, and when she smiles it's so soft as if she doesn't quite remember how to do it.  
  
 _I love you._

 

His eyes blow wide and he freezes above her. Never once did he think he'd ever hear those words, much less that he'd believe them (but he does, deep down). And above all, they mean so much more than they would have a few months ago because he read her note, because he saw her fear in her eyes when he found her again.

 

His insecurity and surprise must be written plainly across his face because Carol cradles his cheeks and pulls him in for another kiss almost instantly. It's different than before once again, their lips melting together and if he felt himself hardening before, then he can't ignore it anymore right now.

 

Against all his fears and better judgment, he allows his hips to lower down until he is pressed flush against her, the friction almost unbearable.  
  
Carol is breathless against him, panting into the kiss as her hips jolt off the bed and towards him, brushing against him so perfectly that he squeezes his eyes shut almost painfully.  
  
 _Are my things still in the closet?_ she asks on a ragged exhale, and the unexpected question catches him slightly off guard. He nods, confused when she presses her hands into his chest to push him off her. Still, he complies, rolling to his side.

 

Carol moves lithely through the now dark room, moonlight flooding in through the window and embracing her in silver light. He can't see what exactly she is doing when she pulls open the closet door, but when she turns around, his eyes immediately fix on what she is holding up between her fingers.

 

A brief rush of excitement fizzles in Daryl’s veins that he hasn't felt in a very long time, so long that he wonders if he ever felt it at all. But at the same time, a new-found determination makes itself comfortable in the pit of his stomach, digging its claws in and making him strive to do this right. To not fuck this up one more time – because they both somehow, unspoken, understand that this would be the last chance they allow to slip through their fingers.  
  
Carol seems to feel the weight of the moment, too, standing immobile a few feet away from the bed. She tosses the condom onto the mattress, taking a deep breath that lifts her chest. Then, quickly, she curls her hands around the hem of her shirt and begins to pull it up.

 

No. Not like this, Daryl thinks, quickly moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Reaching out he takes her hands in his, halting her movement.

 

_Let me,_ he pleads, eyes flickering down to the sliver of pale skin already revealed. _Wan_ _na do this right._

 

She looks into his eyes, searching for something. The moment she finds it, her face softens and she gives him one gentle nod. It's all the permission he needs.

 

He undresses her slowly, pulling away each article of clothing only to brush his lips along each inch of skin he reveals. Carefully, he pulls her shirt over her head and allows it to flutter to the ground. With trembling fingers, he unbuckles her belt and drags down her zipper. His heart drums nervously in his ears when Carol steps out of her boots and her pants fall down her hips to pile on the floor.

 

Lightly, he traces the healing skin on her stomach with the pad of his thumb, his lips kissing just above her belly button. Inhaling her, he nudges his nose all the way up until he is face to face with the plain cotton of her bra and he kisses the swell of a breast through the fabric, Carol's breathing turning uneven.

 

Her hands have long found purchase on his shoulders and to see her legs trembling slightly at his touch only spurs him on. Just as his hands skim up the outsides of her thighs, impatience seem to claim Carol. She pushes against his shoulders until he lies down flat on his back.

 

He barely has time to think to kick off his shoes before Carol lies back down on the bed and pulls him to her. Hovering above her, he is suddenly overwhelmed by his nerves.

 

_You okay?_ Carol asks, clearly concerned when she tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. All he can do is nod, his throat too tied up to speak. To prove that he means it, he leans down to kiss her, deep and slow and she whimpers when he pulls away. But she's quick, her hands gathering his shirt and pulling it up.

 

Every fiber of his being screams at the idea, but he ignores the many voices, reaches between them instead to help her. Quickly, he pulls the shirt over his head, and then all falls quiet.

 

She has seen it all before. Hell, she has _touched_ him before. All the tokens his old man has given him. Still, to be exposed to her like this makes him want to run, especially now that new mementos have been added to the already marred canvas of his body. Some of them still haven't healed.

 

Between them, her hands splay over his chest, grazing raw patches of skin where countless cuts are stealing healing. Turning into new scars next to old and familiar ones.

 

_Oh, Daryl,_ she breathes, tracing her finger over one of them – especially deep, the skin puckered angrily now.

 

_It don't matter,_ he chokes, fighting the urge to drag her hands away. But he does the opposite, leans further down into her and mouths a kiss to the side of her neck.

 

Carol's back arches in response, but she sounds unconvinced. _It does matter._

 

He hates the traces of pity in her voice, and so he leans back, just enough to look into her eyes. This time, he does reach between them to curl his fingers around one of her wrists, tugging it away until it comes to rest against the comforter. _Not tonight,_ he rasps, interlacing their fingers as he pushes himself against her core, nothing separating them but her underwear and his jeans.

 

It's a constant push and pull after that. He thrusts against her gently, slowly, not at all eager to make a fool of himself again. At the same time, it's hard to hold back, to not kiss her even deeper, to not suck at the skin of her neck too hard.

 

She writhes beneath him, clawing at his shoulders as her hips grind up towards his each time he moves away. The way she pleads for more when he buries his head between her breasts and sucks at the tender skin nearly sends him over the edge, and he fumbles with the clasp of her bra not a second later, tossing it to the ground.

 

_Oh,_ she gasps when he cups the weight of her breast in his palm, lips sucking at the dip of her collarbone. Everything about her is soft and warm, even in the cold light of the moon. Her hands seek out his belt buckle when he brushes the rough pad of his thumb across her nipple, but she abandons her plans almost instantly when he leans down to replace his thumb with his mouth.

 

A soft moan bubbles from her throat and he can feel her skin stiffening between his lips as he sucks and rasps his teeth along it. He is so far out of his depth here, but Carol gives him neither a moment nor a reason to doubt himself. Not when she is arching into his touch and clutching his head to her breasts, not when her legs come up to curl around his hips, dragging him flush against her. Not when she moans his name into the night in a way that sends sparks down his spine.

 

Eventually, Carol's hands steal between them again, nails scraping along his abdomen and he tenses above her. _Fuck,_ he hisses, looking up to see something like pride flaring in her eyes. She makes quick work of his belt buckle and only has his zipper dragged down halfway before he gets too restless, reaching down to push his pants over his hips.

 

He kicks them off clumsily, groaning a little too loudly the second he presses against her with nothing but the worn cotton of their underwear between them. He can feel the warmth of her pressed up against him just right, and he has to claw his fingers into the mattress on each side of her head in order to calm himself.

 

It's all too much to stand, to take in. And there's such a large shadow still wearing him down, telling him that this is wrong. That he doesn't deserve a single good thing she is making him feel.

 

There is one thing he is more than sure of, though. That Carol deserves to feel all good things he can _make_ her feel. Memories of her gasping his name and coming apart under his touch flood his brain and make it hard to not thrust against her again.

 

Instead, he reaches between them, trails his hand down the quivering plane of her stomach before his fingertips trace the waistline of her underwear.

 

_This all right?_ he mutters, nudging his nose against her earlobe. Carol hums approvingly, and when he turns to look at her she has her eyes closed, damp lips parted. So nervous that he's trembling himself, Daryl pushes his hand under the fabric, traces his fingers through her curls until he finds her warm and slick and _so_ soft.

 

With a groan that accompanies her sigh, he buries his head in her shoulder. Circling his thumb over her, mapping her out (both familiar and all new). His movements are slow and almost lazy, memorizing her. How she shivers when he drags his thumb over the right spot, how easy it is to slide his finger inside her.

 

He knows he's not really working towards anything here, but he cherishes the minutes all the same, every breathy whisper that passes Carol's lips. It's important to him for her to understand what this means to him, that none of this is about him – that all of it is about her, and them. What _they_ could be if only...

 

_Daryl, please,_ she whimpers then, pulling him from his trance when she lifts her hips off the bed. He gets the hint quickly, curling his fingers around the fabric of her underwear and peeling them down her legs. Carol is quick to help, kicking them away and then she's bare beneath him, all soft skin and flushed cheeks.

 

Scooting down on the bed, Daryl presses a kiss to the cap of her knee, then the inside, feeling her shiver. His hands trace the outsides of her thighs, thumb grazing over the pebbled skin where a bullet tore through. Feeling the warmth of his own breath, he nudges his nose against the inside of her thigh, kissing his way up until he meets the joint of her hips. He rests his cheek there, running his finger back and forth over the scar on her belly that hasn't been there before.

 

He's not the only one who has been marked by the past few months, and it brings forth anger and sadness alike to feel the scar under his fingers. But he doesn't dwell on it too long, sighs into her skin instead and mouth kisses from one hipbone to the other, inhaling the scent of her before kissing lower.

 

But her hands find him then, curling into his hair. _Not tonight,_ she whispers, tugging ever so gently. With one last kiss to the curls of hair in front of him, Daryl moves up, balancing his weight on his forearms. _I need you._

 

He nods weakly as her hand cups his cheek, suddenly so stunned by it all that he struggles to breathe. _For real this time?_ he asks, his voice breaking and he feels stupid the second his words fade into silence. But Carol doesn't laugh, doesn't make fun of him. Instead, she reaches down and sneaks her had into his briefs, finds him hard and waiting.

 

_Please._ Her fingers curl around him softly, so lightly that he bucks into her hand for more friction. _Make love to me._ She strokes him for a few moments and he pants helplessly into her neck, mumbling something he thinks might be her name. Mercifully, she pulls her hand away soon after, both of them remembering well how horrifyingly this has ended before.

 

His heart thunders in his chest when Carol reaches for the condom, opening the package with trembling fingers. Reaching down, he pushes his underwear off his hips, kicking it away, not giving a damn when it gets stuck on his left ankle. How could he when Carol is curling her hand around him again, giving him one lazy stroke and silencing his groan with a kiss?

 

She makes quick work of the condom and all he can do is shudder and bite his lip so hard he nearly draws blood. But what else is he fucking supposed to do with her hand all over him and the other curled around his hip to hold him close?

 

When she moves her hand away and finds his to entwine their fingers, Daryl shifts on his knees, breathing heavily when he nudges against her. Opening his eyes, he looks down on her, eyes wide open and full of something he figures must be love.

 

_Carol-_ he begins, needing to know one more time that this is really what she wants. But before he can voice his question she is squeezing his hand, tilting her hips forward, and it's all the encouragement he needs.

 

Swallowing deftly and feeling as nervous as never before, he begins to push into her. Slowly, inch by inch so he can feel all of her around him, warm and tight. For a good long moment he watches her, the way her lips part on a sigh and her neck cranes backwards. But then it's too much and he closes his eyes, rests his forehead against her collarbone and pushes all the way in until he can't go any further.

 

He stays like this, buried to the hilt and completely immobile, for a few moment, just trying to _breathe_. When he does move it's only to lift his head and look down at Carol. She looks dazed, her muscles tense and he can damn well feel how tight she is around him and how hard she's clutching his hand.

 

_Am I hurtin' ya?_ he asks, worried and ready to pull out to ease her pain.

 

But she is quick to shake her head, sighing a heady _no_ before she's kissing him, wrapping her legs around his thighs to hold him inside her.

 

He is just about to withdraw a little and finally start moving when the sound of creaking floorboards outside the door cause them to freeze. Not a second later, a knock on the door has Daryl’s heart picking up speed even more, and his eyes are just as wide as Carol's, he's sure.

 

_Carol?_ She looks panicked at the muffled sound of Rick's voice, and Daryl tenses even more, the situation having shifted so quickly that he doesn't know what the hell to do.

 

_I'm getting dressed!_ Carol calls quickly, at least buying them some time and preventing Rick from walking in on them like this. Her hands suddenly curl around his arms, trembling from holding himself so still. She pushes and pulls at the same time, eyes fixed on the door.

 

_All right,_ Rick says before taking a long pause. _I was..._ He clears his throat. _I wanted to talk to you._

 

Burying his head in the crook of Carol's neck, Daryl groans in frustration. He can already start to feel himself softening inside of her, and she probably can, too. Soothingly, she runs her hand up and down his arm, taking deep breaths that push her breasts against his chest each time, and it's frustrating beyond measure to have her this close, to be inside her as far as he can, and have it all ruined once more.

 

_I'm very tired,_ she explains, sounding so convincing that he wonders briefly if maybe they should have waited with this. But when he looks up at her she is biting her lip, and the same haziness he has seen before is still evident in her eyes, her cheeks still as flushed. _Maybe tomorrow?_

 

For a moment, it's quiet outside, and Daryl silently wonders how many more reasons Rick needs to piss off right now. _All right,_ he finally says, sounding defeated in a sense he hasn't started to until recently. _Good night._

 

She doesn't bother responding, just sighs and drags her legs higher up his hips, chasing the moment that is threatening to slip through their fingers again.

 

_Carol?_ It's Rick's voice again and this time Daryl can't hold back the curse, hissing against the side of Carol's throat he'd just been about to kiss.

 

_Jesus!_

 

One second of absolute silence, and then Carol starts laughing. Quietly, softly, barely counting – but it's a real laugh, a sweet giggle that has her contracting around him in all the right ways and he looks at her in wonder.

 

_What is it?_ she calls slightly breathlessly, moving her hand from his arm to his neck.

 

_Have you seen Daryl?_ Rick sounds serious and they both look at each other, suddenly feeling weary.

 

_Do you want to stop?_ she whispers softly, already loosening the grip of her thighs around him. But he can't stop now, not again. Can't let this moment pass risking that no other chance will come along.

 

_No,_ he says determinedly and as quietly as he can, his hand finding her thigh and pulling it higher up his hips until her knee grazes his ribcage. Her eyes widen and her lips part then, and even though he still isn't quite hard enough yet, he can feel his skin prickling.

 

_No, I haven't seen him,_ Carol lies, her eyes not leaving his even as they listen to Rick retreating outside.

 

Moving his hand from her thigh, Daryl cups her cheek, feeling the smooth skin beaming under his touch. She leans into him, eyes blinking rapidly as if she's trying to will away tears, her lashes fluttering like a butterfly's wing. Just as gently, he brushes his lips against hers, tastes the sweet of her, listens to the hiccup of her breath as the moment overwhelms them both.

 

_No more runnin'?_ he whispers the words so his voice won't break under the weight of his begging. Because he is – damn, he'd kneel in front of her and cry the words over and over for everybody to see if it meant she'd stay with him.

 

Carol might not understand quite how desperate he truly is, but she nods and nudges the tip of her nose against his before slightly tugging at his lower lip with her teeth. Careful not to inflict any pain, she curls her arms around him tighter and lifts her hips. Deepening the kiss and grinding into her proves to be all he needs and he feels himself throbbing inside of her soon enough, every muscle in his body coiling tight.

 

He starts to move then, finally – _finally._ It's all too much, the tightness of her and the way she clings to him, her lips eager against his, her breathing ragged and more than once reminding him of the sound of his name.

 

It all melts together, her warm, soft hands ghosting across his back and hips, her legs tight around his waist, her hips moving against him, drawing him back inside whenever he moves away - but he never pulls out all the way, instead rocks himself against her – inside her - slowly and gently, unwilling to separate for too long.

 

Touching her becomes a craving he can't resist, even though he doesn't know how. He wants to do it all right, wants to draw those breathy little moans from her. He goes by instinct and curiosity alike, all fueled by his own need to be closer to her. Cupping her breast and dragging his thumb over her nipple again the way she seemed to like before. Kissing her lips and down her throat until he nibbles slightly at her collarbone. Her back arches at that and he takes note, does it again on the other side.

 

They move together, a little clumsily at first but the slow rhythm he has set is forgiving and leaves little room for bumps and bruises. Still, his hand skims down her side, along her thigh until it rests on her hip, pulling her flush against him.

 

It knocks the breath out of her when he hits some place deep inside, and she claws at the sheets with one hand, moans his name so quietly that he nearly misses it.

 

He can feel his release building steadily but too quickly, white heat coiling at the base of his spine when he pushes his hips against hers. But he wants to hold out as long as he can, wants to prolong this and hold on to this moment for as long as possible now that it's finally real. More than a regretful _what if_ , more than a mournful memory and so much more than a hazy fever dream.

 

As much as he wants it to last (because God knows this first time might be the only time, that every minute they are breathing is a gift these days) he struggles to the point of pain to hold on. Grunting into her neck, his arms begin to quiver where he holds himself up and his movements slow down so much in a weak attempt to prolong the inevitable that Carol whimpers beneath him.

 

It all backfires when she decides to take over for him, breathing into his ear that _it's all right_ and tilting her hips upwards in a quicker motion than before, the friction having him grinding his teeth. _Let go._

 

He knows she really believes it and that she wouldn't blame him if this was over in a few seconds. He also hopes that she knows he wouldn't just leave her hanging this time, that he'd make sure she gets as much out of this as he is. Only, he wants _this_. Them, together.

 

_Ain't all right,_ he rasps, kissing her below her ear and whispering the next words because he can already feel the blush creeping into his cheeks for even saying any of this out loud. _Wanna do this right._

 

He has to do this right.

 

_You a-ahhh!_ Whatever Carol had been trying to say to encourage him is lost when he shoves a hand between them to circle his finger over her. A bit clumsy at first when Carol arches her back and all her muscles tighten around him, but he finds a rhythm quickly enough. She moans in time with each thrust he makes, all of them growing a bit harder now, less controlled.

 

The steady, slow rhythm from before is quickly lost, and Daryl pants into her neck and sucks at the skin there when his hand slips through the slick of her and he feels himself sliding in and out, everything warm and smooth.

 

_Carol,_ he breathes, completely helpless now. But she shudders beneath him not a second later, gasping his name and then he pulls back his head enough to look down at her as she falls apart, lips parted on a silent cry as she clamps down around him.

 

That's the moment he loses all sense for tenderness. He pulls out almost all the way this time, thrusting back inside in one strong thrust and Carol yelps, her muscles still fluttering around him. For a second, he's afraid he hurt her and stills, but then she clutching at his back and nudges her hips against his once more.

 

It's more than he can take.

 

Sitting back on his knees and shins, Daryl drags her along with him. Her hips arch off the bed, his fingers digging into her flesh as he thrusts into her the same time he pulls her onto him, and it's all over when she claws her hand into his thigh and clamps around him on purpose this time.

 

His next thrust sends her scooting back on the mattress a few inches and then everything goes black, all the tension in his body snapping away as he groans, bucking his hips into her by instinct.

 

They both stay like that for a while, Carol gently rocking her hips against his to lead him through the aftershocks. Every now and then he bucks into her weakly, only now realizing how sore his muscles are, sweat pearling on his forehead.

 

Looking down at her sprawled out before him, he nearly chokes on the lump in his throat. A cherry red flush spreads from her cheeks down her neck and chest, her breast heaving with each breath, her hand skimming over her stomach lazily. He leans down to kiss the swell of her breast just because he can, because it's insane that she would let him, that he can do this without waking up in a damp, cold, concrete cell afterward.

 

Her hand finds his head, holding him against her breast and he can feel the thrumming of her heart underneath him. _I love ya,_ he murmurs, wondering instantly if he actually said it or if his brain tricked him into thinking he was really that brave for once.

 

He has known for so long. Long before she ever uttered the word _love_. But still, to say it now when he's still shuddering in the aftermath of what they've done, when he's still inside her, it might as well be a dream all over again.

 

When he looks up, feeling shy all of a sudden, she smiles gently, leaning down for a kiss. It's unhurried and languid, and Daryl doesn't say a word when he tastes the saltiness of tears on his lips. They shift into a more comfortable position, his back already aching from bending over so much, and the moment he slips out of her Carol sighs against him, her hand clutching his arm.

 

He parts the kiss, feels his lips twitching into a smile. Laying on their sides, legs still tangled, Daryl feels like he could fall asleep in an instant (and maybe, for the first time since the day denise died on those tracks, he'd actually find some rest).

 

_I gotta-_ , he starts, suddenly embarrassed as he points down between them, something preventing him from just falling asleep with her all wrapped around him. Carol blushes a little and nods, leaning back against the pillows as he climbs out of bed.

 

He takes care of the condom as quickly as possible, keeping his back to her. Knowing fully well that even in the moonlight she can see the abundance of new scars those bastards left on him in addition to the ones she already knew.

 

He mutters a curse and ends up throwing the condom into the empty trashcan by the desk, feeling ridiculous.

 

_You better clean that up later,_ Carol says, and his heart lights up at the slightly mocking tone to her voice that he hasn't heard in so long.

 

_Ain't gonna walk to the bathroom and run into Rick like this,_ he explains, turning around and nearly stumbling at the sight of Carol. He shouldn't be surprised, not after what they have just done, not after all they have done since the start. But still, to see her there just a few feet away, naked and tired and _here_ , it sends electricity through his veins.

 

Not a second later, though, he realizes he isn't the only one who is looking, Carol's eyes flickering down the length of his body and damn it it's stupid but he suddenly feels exposed and shy, chewing on his thumb and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He never imagined the _after_. Never had enough hope that there would even be one.

 

_Come here,_ she whispers, reading him like an open book the same way she has done since the farm. How many times has he pushed her away since then? How many times did she feel the need to turn away? Not tonight. She reaches out her hand to him. _No more running, right?_

 

He can't fight thinking about all they have lost and all they have endured since the day they walked into each other's lives as he steps over towards the bed and takes her hand. They have come so far since then, but to what cost? Who are they now but broken pieces of who they could have been?

 

He told her once that they aren't ashes. Even now as guilt still cripples him and Carol curls herself into his side so tightly like she herself is afraid she'll run again, he wants to believe in that.

 

The _after_ he never dared to imagine is more somber than he would have liked. Cradling Carol's head against his chest and pulling the blanket over their bodies, he fights the tug of guilt that will most likely never let him go. Even now it tells him to run, that he deserves none of this.

 

But he fights it, and fights it, leans down and kisses Carol with all he has got. Knowing that whatever will happen next, this moment is secure and right and nobody can take it away from them anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. Finally, right? Honestly, even I was getting frustrated about this lately :)
> 
> A few words on this last chapter. It's not at all how I wanted it to be. The problem was that I made the outline for this whole story months ago, and while it was pretty certain even then who the Lucille victims would be, I obviously did not yet know about Daryl's involvement in Glenn's death. At the time, this chapter (while still being told from Daryl's POV) was meant to focus more on Carol's emotions. The way she deals with coming back home, etc. But after the premiere, I knew that Daryl's guilt over Glenn would probably be so severe that I can't just brush over it. That is why, in the end, this ended up focusing more on Daryl's struggles. I do hope, though, that you don't feel like I ignored all of Carol's many demons.
> 
> Also, I kept the timeline of this very vague. While this story obviously (sadly) isn't canon compliant, I do want it to fit into the canon of the show as much as possible. Since we've entered stuff that hasn't aired yet, I obviously had to make a lot of assumptions. That's why I haven't mentioned anything else that happens at this time, where they are in the war, etc. Daryl being back in Alexandria itself was an issue for me when I wrote this because it would obviously take a while before it's safe for him to be there again. 
> 
> Ultimately, this fic ended up having a lot more plot than it was originally meant to have^^
> 
> Last but not least, in the past few months while writing this, I realized that the last chapter would kind of have to make up for all the frustration that came before. No pressure or anything, ha ha. Technically, both Caryl and you guys deserved some mind blowing sex here. But I also wanted to keep things a little realistic and stay true to the emotional weight of the characters in this moment. I really, really hope that you are still somewhat... satisfied with the way this ended.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support, teasing you all was a lot of fun but I'm glad it's over now :)
> 
> P.S.: I wanted to take this opportunity to kind of officially announce that I'm going on a writing break in November. I've been writing pretty much non-stop for about a year now and I am, quite frankly, exhausted. Also, I feel like the quality of my writing is suffering from it, as well. 
> 
> That's why I wrapped up all my works in progress over the past few weeks. I'll take one month off and then be back in December :)


End file.
